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This vast work is the only one of its class | The plan shows that it resembles an Anglobegun and finished in one age; and, what is still more remarkable, under one bishop, by one master-mason, and (except a few contemptible super-additions) by one architect. It was commenced in 1675, nine years after the fire, and finished in 1711.

Gothic church of the largest class, except only in the breadth and fewness of the severies or compartments. The usual four piers at the crossing are omitted, so as to throw the weight of the dome on eight surrounding piers, (as at Ely Cathedral,) and

the re-entering angles are strengthened | and decorations of the dome, incomparably by four massive towers, three containing the finest part; and the west front, which vestries, and one a staircase, all continued to is next in merit. With regard to the rest the height of the clere-story walls or about of the exterior, it is to be observed that the 100 ft. from the ground. To the west front, aisles are included entirely in the height of which was intended for the principal entrance, the lower order of pilasters; and that the are added laterally, beyond the breadth of upper, which has empty niches instead of the building (as at Wells and Rouen) two windows, is merely a wall or screen, erected bell towers which rise with pyramidal sum- as some say, to hide the unclassical forms of mits, to double the height of the roofs; and flying buttresses, but we cannot attribute to behind or east of them, are two oblong Wren so very clumsy and disproportioned chapels rising no higher than the aisles, an expedient. He certainly had invention but having rooms over them, corresponding enough to have given those features a form to the clere-story. On the eight central harmonizing with the style of the rest; and arches are built two concentric circular walls, if not, no necessary features would be conthe outer supporting a complete colonnade, sidered, except perhaps in the nineteenth cen140 ft. in diameter, admirably contrived to tury,to justify so gross an extravagance. Beabut the inner, which carries the domes. sides, the massiveness of this wall, about 9 ft. These with their lantern, crowned by a gilt thick, precludes the idea of a mere screen, copper ball and cross, rise altogether to thrice and seems to suggest that its chief motive the height of the roofs, or 365 ft. from the may be to furnish a load like that of the ground, 356 from the floor of the church, Gothic pinnacles, but much heavier, to steady and 375 from that of the crypts. the piers below it against the thrust of the vaultings, without requiring very promiment buttresses.

Simple ratios prevail between all the leading dimensions, and especially the ratio of 1 to 2 between the breath and height of openings, avenues, and spaces. Thus the windows are chiefly 12 ft. wide by 24 high; the aisles 19 feet. in clear width by 38 in clear height; the central avenues 41 by 84 (a deficiency of only one foot in breadth); the beautiful-domed vestibule at the west end, 47 square by 94 high; and lastly, the central space, 108 in clear width, by 216 high. In clear diameter, this space is exceeded by that between the four piers of St. Sophia, 162 ft.; between those of St. Peter's

157;
the circular inclosure of the Pantheon,
144; the octagon (with four sides open) of
Florence Cathedral, 138; and the crossing
(with all sides open) of the mosque of Ach-
met, 130 ft. In height, however, it stands
third, exceeding the Pantheon by 70 ft.;
about equalling St. Sophia, but falling short
of the Florence cupola by 50 ft., and of St.
Peter's by 150. To show what various
pro-
portions have been admired:-at the Pan-
theon, the clear height is equal to the
breadth, and at Achmet's dome about the
same; at St. Sophia, one-third greater; at
Florence and St. Paul's, twice; and at St.
Peter's two and a half times the breadth.

Our view, projected from a point in the steeple of St. Martin's, Ludgate, with the houses omitted, will show the external form

WAR AND PEACE.

BY JAMES STONEHOUSE.

THE warrior waves his standard high,
His falchion flashes in the fray:
He madly shouts his battle-cry,
And glories in a well-fought day.
But Famine's at the city gate,
And Rapine prowls without the walls,
The country round lies desolate,

While Havoc's blighting footstep falls.
By ruined hearths-by homes defiled-
In scenes that Nature's visage mar:
We feel the storm of Passions wild,
And pluck the bitter fruit of war.

The cobweb hangs on sword and belt,
The charger draws the gliding plough;
The cannon in the furnace melt,

And change to gentle purpose now.
The threshers swing their pond'rous flails;
The craftsmen toil with cheerful might,
The ocean swarms with merchant sails,
And busy mills look gay by night.
The happy land becomes renowned,
As knowledge, arts, and wealth increase,
And thus with Plenty smiling round,
We cull the blessed Fruits of Peace.

MANY complain of neglect who never tried to attract regard.

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champagne outrageously drunk in chorus in the days of Sontag-olatry when Barnum was a baby! And we see what a stir Cinderella's shoe has been making among the Noters and Querists, brilliant having been the defence of the old original glass slipper by the Britomart of the 'LADIES' COMPANION, who last week beat the big-wigs in toilet antiquarianism."

"There is no spot so strange that a shoe | Out of Mademoiselle Sontag's shoe was may not chance to be discovered in it. I remember, after his death, to have found a tiny, apricot-satin slipper, of many years' standing, all faded and frayed, among the parchments and papers of the harshest old bachelor, who ever painted love as dismal, and matrimony a sore evil-for the admonition of the rising generation.-I have seen a shapeless hobnailed leather specimen clamped, and patched, and vamped up, serve by way of a flowerpot in the balcony of an especially rustical young lady.-The Old Judge' told us how little Lizzy Fink's shoe was detected by Miss Sally Horn the inimitable, as having been obliviously baked into a partridge pie at a 'picnic stir.

"Pourtant," said Madame Récamierwho is at best unable to relish the feuilleton tone of modern times, and who, on this occasion, was entirely distanced by the coxcombical English of the journalist I was the other day reading in our favorite bower, (having reciprocated with the owner of a

Crystal, and by the aid of DRAGON re- | practical phrase from your English, n'est ce ceiving the very last intelligence from Bath pas?)—having one evening wound no less and London)" Pourtant, I know a story than eleven ells of gauze into the téte of of a lost shoe odder than any thing that you Madame la Princesse, no matter who. have mentioned. But, first, what is Sontag- But I am afraid, that after he had become olatry, my beau Lor Nash? I conceive your popular, his inspiration left him, and he English very well, but do not understand grew mechanical. This too often happens me of that long word." with persons of genius." And here, my dear friend, satisfied that she had said a profound thing, paused, that I might relish it properly; and, during the pause, looked up, and shed a tear, small, but elegant.

I might have told the dear lady that it meant the same thing as Vestris-olatry, or Guimard-olatry, or Récamier-olatry, or any other of the olatries in which her countrymen have been, from time immemorial, so ardent; but I know that when my charming friend once wanders away from her point, she never comes home again; so I said it was but nonsense that she had, perhaps, better not inquire about it-and begged for her story of the shoe.

“Though it belongs to the feet, Milor Nash," said she, (smiling, as Lady Stepney does when she thinks she has been artful and witty,) "it has more relation to the head. La Marquise de Flescelles-'tis not the lady's real name, but no matter-was the lady in Paris, who for years was the most courageous in carrying out (as your new jargon is) every idea to its extreme. Did any other lady wear two curls, she mounted three. Her panier would have sheltered three lovers, not one poor Abbé only, like that of Madame Fontgombault! And when it was the fancy to be coiffée in the grand style, so high did Madame de Flescelles go, that a charge was made of her (look here, Milor! and you will see that it is no conte bleu) having her tête powdered by a confidante and a page from the top of a ladder."

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'Well," resumed the Récamier," when Madame de Flescelles was dressed, one of her satin shoes-and a high-heeled shoe, too-was missing. Mlle. Justine had brought them both in, and particularly remembered having as usual, laid two or three rose-leaves in each,* ready for Madame to put them on, or, perhaps, they might be that day poppy-leaves, from the vase on the table; for Madame was in that irritable state of nerves in which a narcotic may be found advantageous. However, only one shoe was to be found when the tête was finished. Of course Mlle. Justine laid the blame on Tonton; forgetting that Tonton was too well brought up to run away with any thing, save for his own table, and that, in his eating,-as a well-brought-up Tonton should be he was more difficile even than la Marquise herself. Take a toowell grown onion for Tonton's cotellettes à la soubise, which he was fond of, (provided the dish was not too often served,) and there was not a living creature about the house whom he would not bite-even his mistress herself!-No; Tonton it could not be.

"Well, dear Madame, what had become of the shoe? You put me on the rack," said I; knowing that the only way to bring the dear lady to an end, when she once be

"Likely enough, Madame," said I. "I don't suspect you of blue tales, I assure you; and could I not show you caricatures of our English ladies, in the reign of spiderwaists, laced by main force?—and of maca-gins to ramble, is by dramatising a little in ronis...."

"Pourtant, Monsieur Nash," resumed my French friend, though in the most well-bred fashion possible, still interrupting me "Madame de Flescelles once enjoyed an adventure which no charge could improve. Dressed for a ball, she was one eveningLéonard, I rather think, dressed her head himself—yes-no-yes-absolutely Léonard. He was famous for working up a lady's own materials--(I have heard such a

the article of interest; and impatience.

"The shoe?-Milor.... Where was I? |—Going to tell you about Tonton and the avadavats-The shoe-where it was?—

Lest the Lady in the Elysian fields should be thought romancing, it may be proper seriously to adduce mundane testimony to inform the reader that a Madame Eglantine, of the ancien régime, well known in her day as a lady of fashion and fancy, would never put on her silk stockings till they had thus been furnished.—ED. L. C.

Dressed carefully up into the very middle of the tête of Madame la Marquise! And three weeks afterwards, when the whole machine was taken to pieces, for her hair to be cleaned, (Parlez-moi de ça-that was a business, Milor!) there was the very shoe -which Léonard, if it was he, had put there, in a fit of absence-safe, as if I have reason to be sure of it from a rather touching circumstance. Madame had the fancy of putting the locks of hair of her lovers into her diamond shoe-buckles, and there was one lock, just then, that she would have been more than usually sorry to lose-which led her, particularly, to recollect the circum

stance."

BEAU NASH HIS GHOST.

took a prominent part in the story I am going to tell you.

Sergy was one of that description of young officers that the schools then frequently sent forth into the world; and, at first, he had to overcome some antipathy and many prejudices before he was liked by his comrades-but for this a very short time sufficed. His countenance was extremely pleasing; his manners were excessively refined and elegant; he possessed ready wit and brilliant imagination, and his bravery was undoubted. There was scarcely any accomplishment in which he did not excel, but his delicate and sensitive organization rendered him particularly alive to the charms of music. He would be filled with enthusiasm, and tears of emotion would start into his eyes on listening to an instrument touched by a skillful hand, or to a beautiful

CHATEAU GHISMONDO; OR, THE AP- voice, especially if it was a woman's voice,

PARITION.

FROM THE FRENCH.

ONE evening, when I was sitting with a party of friends at twilight, and several of them had related marvellous tales of haunted houses, witches, &c., I was called on in my turn to tell a ghost story, and was desired to think of one without unnecessary delay. "I shall find no difficulty in complying with your request," said I, "for I once witnessed the strangest apparition you can possibly imagine. But, observe, what I shall narrate is really no fiction; it is a simple fact, which I shall eventually explain." My friends drew their chairs eagerly towards me, and waited with considerable anxiety for me to commence my tale :

It was toward the latter part of the year 1812, when I was captain in the dragoons, that I garrisoned at Gironne, in the department du Ter. My colonel found it necessary to send me to Barcelona, where, on the day following Christmas-day, a marketcelebrated throughout Catalonia for the horses which it offered for sale-would be held as usual. He deemed it advisable that two lieutenants of our regiment should accompany me; the name of one was Sergy, that of the other Boutraix; they happened to be my particular friends. It will be as well for me to give you a slight sketch of the character of each of these men, as they

and that woman was pretty. His raptures were then frequently like those of a delirious person, and I really sometimes trembled for his reason. After what I have just said, you will very naturally imagine that Sergy's heart was particularly susceptible of love: indeed, I scarcely know when he was free from one of those violent passions, upon which the whole of a man's after-life would seem to depend. Fortunately, the exalted nature of his imagination kept him from any of the excesses of this passion. He sought for a mind as ardent as his own, with which he could entirely sympathize, and he was constantly deluding himself with the idea that he had at length met with a being perfectly suited to him; so that the idol of one day was cast off the next, when he found that she was without the charms with which his imagination had invested her. When he had arrived at the humiliating conviction that he had been mistaken, he was in the habit of remarking, that the unknown object of his wishes and hopes was not an inhabitant of the earth; but he still continued to seek, and, of course, to be deceived again, as he had been a thousand times before. From his natural excitability and extraordinary sensitiveness, he was disposed to lend a ready ear to the marvellous: perhaps he was superstitious from the nature of his education; but, at any rate, his peculiar disposition rendered him still more so. His belief, therefore, in the imaginary mis

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