Chapter 2

Of _Eaton Square_, one portion only is built at present: as laid out, planted, and railed in, it is intended to occupy an area of about fourteen acres, and will be bounded by four rows of houses on the north side, and the like number on the south side, having the king's private road extending east and west through the centre. It measures 600 yards long by 120 yards wide, between the houses. At the eastern extremity is a new church, built from the designs of Henry Hakewill, Esq.

To the north of this district, at Hyde Park Corner, is a large new edifice appropriated to _St. George's Hospital_. It is a commodious and handsome building, from the designs of R. Smirke, Esq. Near it, and forming an entrance lodge to the Palace Gardens, is a bold, large, and highly-decorated archway, built from the designs of Decimus Burton, Esq. Opposite is a screen of columns, with three entrance archways, a lodge, &c. constituting an architectural entrance to Hyde Park. Three other lodges, with gates, by Mr. Burton, form so many other entrances to the Park from the east and north--_Apsley House_, the town mansion of the Duke of Wellington, at the south-east angle of Hyde Park, is rebuilding from the designs of Messrs. B. and C. Wyatt, and will form a handsome object at this entrance to the metropolis.

The Earl of Grosvenor has set a most laudable example to our opulent nobility, in the new wing to his mansion in Grosvenor Street, as a gallery for his valuable pictures. It is a handsome and imposing design, and does honour to the architect, Mr Cundy.

The new _Club Houses_ in St. James's Street, especially that near the southern end, present imposing fronts; and it may be added, that most of the other Club Houses have contributed very much to adorn their respective situations, and to impart a strictly architectural character to our street buildings.

The site of Carlton House, and its gardens, is occupied by a wide street, by a lofty terrace overlooking the Park, by club houses, &c. Two of the latter terminate Waterloo Place, and are appropriated to "_the United Service_," and "_the Athenaeum_;" the first built from the designs of Mr. Nash, and the latter from those of Mr. D. Burton.

From Charing Cross to Exeter 'Change an amazing improvement has commenced. All the houses on the north side of the Strand are taking down, and others raising, farther back, by which the street will be much widened, and the new buildings will assume better faces, if not better accommodation, for the tradesmen who occupy them. That museum of sheds, stalls, and filth, _Covent Garden_, is also to be cleared and cleansed, and respectable ranges of shops and warerooms are to be erected.

It is now confidently said, that "_the King's College of London_" is to be attached to the eastern side of Somerset House; and that Mr. Smirke is commissioned to make a design for the building.

In the _Regent's Park_ a new Terrace and other buildings, are in progress; the great Colosseum is nearly finished, and the _Zoological Gardens_ have excited unusual popularity. No less than 130,000 visiters have been admitted to view the gardens and the vivarium within the year 1828.

On the east side of the Park is a mass of buildings appropriated to _St. Katherine's Hospital_, consisting of a chapel in the centre, with a group of dwellings on each side, and a detached mansion for the master. South of this is a series of buildings, called _Cumberland Terrace_, raised from the designs of Mr. Nash, which is abundantly adorned with columns, arches, statues, and basso-relievo.

The _Colosseum_, in the same Park, is a building of great dimensions, and novel appropriation, and therefore calculated to excite very popular attention. Near this is the _Diorama_, an edifice of singular construction, destined for the public display of two pictures. A new line of communication from this Park to Pall Mall has been completed within the last few years, by a wide and handsome road called _Regent Street_.

_London University_--The situation of the first University founded in this immense city is most peculiarly favourable, being equally removed from the busy and confined part of the metropolis, and from the fashionable and idle; whilst it is not inconveniently remote from either extremity. The building was commenced on the 30th of April, 1827, when the Duke of Sussex laid the first stone, in the presence of a large concourse of noblemen and gentlemen. The design is by William Wilkins, Esq., R.A., who has evinced in the principal elevation and general character of the edifice considerable taste and science. When completed, it is intended to consist of a central part, and two wings projecting at right angles from the extremities of the former. The first portion only of this is at present finished. It extends from north to south 430 feet, with a depth, from east to west, including the two semicircular theatres, of about 200 feet. The elevation is at once classical and chaste, having a bold and rich portico in the centre, elevated on a plinth, to the height of the first story (19 feet,) and is approached by numerous steps, which are arranged to produce a fine effect. Twelve Corinthian columns support a flattened pediment, in the tympanum of which is to be a composition in basso-relievo, analogous to science and literature. Behind this pediment is a cupola, finished by a lantern light, in imitation of a peripteral temple, crowning and ornamenting a grand octagonal vestibule, or saloon. North of this is the museum of natural history, 118 feet by 50, and 23 feet in height, opening to the museum of anatomy, which latter communicates with two rooms for professors, and to one of the large theatres, or lecture-rooms. East of the vestibule is a large hall, and to the south is the great library, corresponding in size, &c. with the museum of natural history; the small library; rooms for the librarian, for apparatus, and also another large theatre. The ground-floor consists of rooms for lectures, the Professor's offices, laboratory, museum, a spacious cloister 213 feet by 24; rooms for the anatomical school, &c. In the basement are other apartments for the anatomical schools, for the chemical laboratory, the students' common room, kitchen, stewards' room, refreshment rooms, housekeeper's room, vaults, &c.

At the _British Museum_ a new room, to contain the late king's library, has been built and fitted up from the designs of Mr. R. Smirke. It is the largest apartment in this country, its measurement being 300 feet in length, by 30 feet in width, and 30 feet high,

The _St. Katherine's Docks_, recently formed near the Tower, will increase this species of accommodation, and be a great improvement to a district where reform and alteration are much required. By a statement published by the Committee in October, 1828, it appears that "the first stone was laid 3rd of May, 1827," and that a grand ceremony was exhibited on the 25th of October, 1828, of opening the Docks. On that occasion, nine vessels, of from 516 to 343 tons burden, entered the docks to load and discharge their freights. Above 1,200 houses, warehouses, &c. were purchased and taken down, to make room for the new works. Accommodation is provided for the stowage of 210,000 tons of merchandize; and, from the improved construction of the warehouses, these goods will be always housed under cover. The fixed capital for completing this great commercial undertaking is 1,352,752_l_.

_A Collier Dock_, on a large scale, has been projected to be excavated and formed in the Isle of Dogs, near Blackwall for which Mr. George Rennie has made plans and estimates.

The _New London Bridge_, now nearly completed, is a work of great magnitude, science, and novelty. Its erection, in our times, and following the recent finishing of the bridges of Waterloo and Southwark, is a memorable event in the annals of London.

The projected _Tunnel under the Thames_ is not only a novel object in this part of London, but, should it ever be accomplished, it will be a wonderful triumph of human talents over seeming impossibilities.

Although so many useful and even important improvements have been recently effected in the metropolis, there are yet many things left undone that ought to be done, and others proceeding in a manner that will neither be creditable nor beneficial. The widening and opening of _New Streets_ from Pall Mall to the British Museum; from that national repository to Waterloo Bridge, skirting the two theatres;--from the Strand to Lincoln's Inn Fields, and thence to Holborn; and again to Covent Garden;--from Charing Cross to Somerset House;--from Oxford Road to Bloomsbury Square and Holborn;--from Blackfriars' Bridge to Clerkenwell, removing and clearing away that nuisance in a public thoroughfare, Fleet Market;--from Moorfields to the Bank, and thence obliquely to Southwark Bridge;--widening and opening the area around St. Paul's Cathedral,--are all calculated to be very beneficial to the public. Other essential alterations are still required; and the legislature, as well as all public-spirited individuals, should co-operate to promote them. The formation of open, respectable quays, terraces, and streets, on the banks of our fine river, is an event greatly to be desired.

The vastly-increasing population of London, has occasioned a great augmentation of _Churches_ and _Chapels_, both for congregations of the establishment, and for dissenters. In consequence of urgent, and argumentative appeals by some truly pious and benevolent Christians, the legislature has granted a large sum for the purpose of aiding parochial committees, to build new churches or enlarge their old ones.

The _New Post Office_, in St. Martin's-le-Grand, is fast approaching conclusion, and will constitute one of the most imposing public buildings of the city. Preparatory to the re-erection of the whole of the _Blue Coat School_, or _Christ's Hospital_, in Newgate Street, a spacious and handsome Hall has been erected, from the designs of Mr. Shaw.

A _new Chapel_, of novel design, being of an amphitheatrical form, has been recently completed, from the designs of _W. Brooks_, architect. It is seated near the Catholic Chapel, in Finsbury Circus.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

* * * * *

THE FIRST AND LAST CRIME.

[_Blackwood's Magazine_ for the current month contains a sketchy article under this title, which displays much of the breadth and vigour of one of Maga's contributors. Our extract is in the form of the confession of a reckless, daring spirit, who being imprisoned for murder, commits suicide. The early developement of his bad passions is admirably drawn, and altogether this is one of the most powerfully written papers that we have lately met with.]

I was the youngest child of three; but before I had attained my tenth year, I was an only one. I had always been the favourite of both my parents, and now I was their idol. They hung upon my existence, as a shipwrecked mariner clings to the last floating fragment of the gallant bark that bore him; they lived, but while they held by me, in the rough tossings of the ocean of life. I was not slow to discover my value in their estimation, or to exercise, in its fullest extent, the capricious tyranny of conscious power. Almost the earliest impression which my ripening mind received, was a regal immunity from error--I could _do no wrong_.

My education was not neglected. Alas! the only use I have ever made of what I acquired, has been to gild my vices when acted, or refine upon the manner of acting them while in contemplation. I look back, at this moment, to the period of my life I am describing, as prosperous men recall the day-spring of their fortunes. _They_, from the proud eminence on which they stand, trace, step by step, in retrospective view, the paths by which they ascended; and _I_, looking through the dark vista of my by-gone years, behold the fatal series of crimes and follies that stained their progress, stretching to my boyhood. The gay and frolic _irregularities_, as they were gently termed, of that untamed age, were the turbid source of the waters of misery in which I am now engulphed, I was a lawless planet, running at will; and the orbit I described laid waste more than one fair region of peace and happiness.

My father had a brother, his elder by many years; a man of stern and rigid character, as I then considered him; but, as I would now call him, of upright, firm, and honourable principle. He loved my father, but did not love his weakness; and the display of it, in his indulgence towards me, was the cause of many a serious, if not sometimes angry, debate between them. Well do I remember (for it rankled like poison in my swelling heart) a declaration he once made in my presence. It was a fine autumnal evening, and he was seated with my father and mother in a balcony, which opened from the library-window upon a spacious lawn. I entered the room, and advanced towards them, unconscious, of course, that their conversation had been about me; but my uncle looking at me with a severe expression of countenance, and at the same time addressing his brother, exclaimed, "Well, James, neither you nor I may live to see it; but if the grace of God, or his own better reflection, as he grows older, do not work a change in this young squire, a duel, Jack Ketch, or a razor, will work his exit some day or other."

My father smiled--I saw my mother wipe away a tear--at that moment I could have struck my uncle dead. I muttered a few words--I knew not what, and left the room. Boy as I was, (for I had barely completed my seventeenth year,) I felt all the vindictive passions of manhood kindling within me. It seemed as if a sentence had been passed upon me, the more terrible, because a secret voice whispered to me, it was prophetic! _That impression never forsook me!_

I questioned my father haughtily, a few days afterwards, as to the reasons of his brother for thus speaking of me; and I even dared to insinuate, that, had he felt what a father should, he would have resented the indignity. He answered me (I write it with shame and contrition) most mildly, most affectionately. The gentle being--I see him now, as he tenderly took my hand--apologized to me--to me! who ought to have stood trembling in _his_ presence! I followed up my blow. With cold, but subtle malignity. I played off my revenge towards my uncle, through the idolatry of my father's love towards myself. I barbarously gave him a choice of misery; for I disdainfully replied, that he must henceforth determine, whether he would lose a brother or a son, as _I_ had determined to remain no longer under his roof, unless I had the assurance that I should never again see my uncle there. He looked at me. My God! what a look it was! so full of meek sorrow and appalling obedience! Without uttering a word, he sat down to his writing-table. The tears fell upon his paper; but they did not blot out a few bitter words addressed to his brother, which severed for ever in this world two noble hearts; cast, indeed, in different moulds, but which kindred blood had cemented, in the close bonds of fraternal love, for more than forty years.

This was my _first_ revenge. But was I satisfied? No!

It was only a few months afterwards, that chance threw in my way a daughter of my uncle's. I met her at the house of a common friend, who knew and deplored the unhappy schism which prevailed between the two brothers. He was equally attached to both, and I believe pleased himself with the idea, that an occasional intercourse between the younger branches of the families, might, some day or other, bring about a reconciliation between the heads. My cousin Harriet was a year older than myself. She was in her nineteenth, I in my eighteenth year. I loved her. Yes; the _first_ feeling that glowed within my bosom was that of love. She was beautiful--fascinating--accomplished--amiable--and I loved her. It was not long before I was satisfied. I had kindled a reciprocal passion in her breast. The mute eloquence of her look and manner was only the harbinger of that same thrilling eloquence, which fell from her tongue when I won the declaration of her affection.

Her father knew we met at this friend's house; but whether he was told, or whether he penetrated, the secret of our attachment, I never learned. I only know, that, at the very moment when separation was madness, his mandate went forth, prohibiting all farther intercourse between us, and that it was obeyed. Not by me; for I was incapable of submission: but by my gentle Harriet, who thought _herself_ incapable of disobeying. We met no more where we had been wont to meet; and my young heart's spring of happiness seemed for ever withered.

But here again, I began to reflect, my path was crossed--my hopes were blighted--by my uncle. I heard, too, that his tongue had been free with my name; that the blistering censure of his austere virtue had fallen upon my actions. I writhed under the contumely. My wounded spirit was insatiate for vengeance. I meditated, deeply, how I could inflict it, so as to strike the blow where he was most vulnerable. I did not brood long over my dark purpose. The love I still bore his daughter, was _now_ mingled with the hatred I bore towards himself; and I exulted in the thought, that I should perhaps be able to gratify, at one and the same moment, two of the fiercest passions of my nature--lust and revenge!

I SUCCEEDED!

In these two words let me shroud a tale of horror. Harriet was my victim! Ask not how. _I_ triumphed! _She_ fell! An angel might have fallen as she did, and lost no purity. But her stainless heart was too proud in virtue to palter and equivocate with circumstances. She never rose from what she deemed her bridal bed. And ere twenty summers had fanned her cheek, the grave-worm banqueted upon its loveliness.

This was my _first_ crime. The recollection of it is engraven upon my memory by an awful catastrophe. The night wind that sung _her_ funeral dirge, howled with dismal fury through the burning ruins of my paternal mansion. Yes! that very night, as if it were in mercy to them, my father and my mother both perished in the flames which reduced the house itself to cinders. They were seen at the windows of their bedchamber, shrieking for aid; but before any could be procured, the flooring gave way, and they sunk at once into the yawning furnace that roared beneath. Their remains, when afterwards dug out, were a few shovelsfull of blackened ashes; except my father's right hand, which was found clasped in that of my mother, and both unconsumed. I followed these sad relics to the sepulchre. But with the tears I shed, there was blended a feeble consolation at the thought they had died before they knew the fate of Harriet; and a frightful joy, that another pang was added to the wretchedness of my uncle.

I can well remember what a feeling of loneliness and desolation now took possession of me. Time, however, rolled on; and I grew callous, if not reconciled. I could not disguise from myself that the more select circles of society were closed against me; or, if I found my way into them, some blushing whisper was quickly circulated, which created a solitude around me.

It was during this period, and while I was squandering thousands to achieve the conquest of shadows, that I succeeded in fixing an intimacy with a family equal to my own in station, and superior to it in fortune. The eldest daughter was an heiress of large expectations, and my proposals of marriage were favourably received. I might almost say that Matilda was mine; when one day I received a letter from her father, peremptorily forbidding my visits. I was thunderstruck. I hastened to the house, and demanded an explanation. It was given in few words. _I was referred to my uncle for any information I required_.

This blow struck me down. I had run through my patrimonial estate; but hoped, by my marriage with Matilda, to repair my shattered fortune. Three weeks after it was known that the match was broken off, I was a prisoner for debt in the King's Bench! I breathed no curses upon the cause of this sudden reverse of fortune, but--I swore revenge, in silence; and I kept my oath. I languished away six months, a captive debtor; and then, taking the benefit of the act, I walked forth a beggar, to prey upon the world at large! I had studied, during that time, in an admirable school, where I found professors in every art by which fools are gulled, and knaves foiled with their own weapons. I was an apt scholar, and returned to the bosom of society, an adept in the science of _polished depredation_. Translate this into the language of the Old Bailey, and I became a swindler by profession. Like the eagle, however, I was a bird of prey that soared into the highest regions, and rarely stooped to strike the meaner tribes of my species. I had not lost, with the trappings of my birth, the manners and address of the sphere in which I had moved; and these were now my stock in trade for carrying on my new vocation.

Among the children of misfortune with whom I associated in prison, was Charles Fitzroy; a bankrupt in every thing but exhaustless invention, and unconquerable perseverance. Give him the free use of his limbs, and with matchless dexterity he would make the contributions of the morning furnish out the riotous expenses of the evening. It was his boast, that he would breakfast with an empty pocket, and dine with a purse that should defray the carouse of a dozen friends. And I have known him fulfil his boast, with a heart as light, too, as became a man who thus made the credulous fools of the world his bankers.

I was needy, desperate, and an outcast; and I linked my destiny with Fitzroy's. He had my confidence; such confidence as confederates in knavery can bestow. When he obtained his liberty, which he did shortly after my own was accomplished, he introduced me to his companions; men who, like himself, lived by plundering the unwary, and who looked up to him as their _Magnus Apollo_. I was soon initiated in all their mysteries; and played my part to admiration at the gaming-table, on the race course, and in the ring.

Fitzroy was master of the secret that festered near my heart; the increased and increasing hatred towards my uncle. I regarded him as my evil genius; for not only had he thwarted me in two of the dearest objects of my life; but his prediction of my boyhood had clung to me like a poisoned garment. I could not shake it off; and now, more than ever, it seemed accomplishing itself with rapid strides. It made me mad when I reflected upon the polluted channels through which _my_ precarious means flowed, and thought of the luxurious enjoyments which _his_ opulence commanded. It was true, I had dashed his cup with bitterness; but it was no less true, that it still flowed with sweets, while mine was brimming with gall. Fitzroy would often talk to me upon this subject, and devise schemes for a successful inroad upon his purse. At length a plan was matured between us, in which I could not appear, but which Fitzroy, and a picked few of our associates, undertook to execute.