to Madame Elizabeth, and in our own day to Duke Pasquier and M. Guizot. Before me lies a wide, irregularly shaped enclosure, cut up by pits and trenches, and littered with blocks of stone, piles of bricks, and heaps of timber. Here and there are dotted oblong wooden shanties, which serve as the offices of the contractors and their foremen. Several lofty towers of planks and spars, each bound in its place by a sort of rigging, rise at various points. Connecting these conspicuous structures are the walls of white Caen stone, which have already risen some height above the ground, and in which you may, when the eye grows used to the maze, read the ground plan of the new palace. Near the centre of the enclosure is a group of noble cedars, fresh, green, and symmetrical, in the midst of the prevailing dust and confusion. The clang of a thousand hammers, the clatter of trowels, and the rasping of saws resound on all sides, and everywhere swarms a busy legion of blue blouses. Such is the ardour with which the work is carried on, that if you came at night you would find the indefatigable blouses toiling away under the glare of the electric light.
The Palace of Industry, which. is thus rising into form at Auteuil, promises to be a very fine edifice. Arriving by the new boulevard, which is being constructed by the city of Paris, and which will be embellished with parterres, rows of chestnut-trees and fountains, the visitor will see before him an imposing structure, at once light and solid, composed of glass and iron, resting on a basement of white stone. The grand façade will present a coup d’œil of 500 mètres, or more than double the elevation of the Exposition building of 1805 in the Champs Elysées, and will be surmounted by a vast central dome, of larger dimensions than those of our own Great Exhibition, and consequently than any other in the world. Entering a lofty portal, in the ornamentation of which will be conspicuous a fine screen of wrought iron and some beautiful stained glass, and passing through a short avenue of shrubs and statues, the visitor will find himself in a long and spacious transept cutting at right angles a nave of equal size running north and south. Roomy aisles will extend on each side. Over the point of intersection of the nave and transept, marked by the clump of cedars, the great dome will spring to a total height of 345 feet. No matter how intense may be the sunshine, its beams will be so refracted and tempered by the glass of this cupola, which is manufactured after a new fashion, that all undue heat or garishness will be subdued without the intervention of an awning. Round the building, at the height of some twenty-five feet from the ground, will run a range of elegant galleries. On every side will be arrayed specimens of the arts and industries of the world. Side by side, for instance, may be compared the damasks and brocades of Lyons with those of Spitalfields and Manchester; the rival chintzes of Mulhouse, Lancashire, and Cumberland; the laces of Chantilly and Valenciennes, Nottingham and Limerick; the chefs d’œuvre of Gobelins and Aubusson with the cheaper and more popular carpetings of Kiddersminster and Brussels. In metal work, porcelain, jewellery, in all those arts which minister to luxury as well as in those which supply the wants of life, the materials for a similar comparison will be supplied. Numerous statues will be seen, glimmering white among groves of plants and shrubs, and there will be a corridor of paintings. But the exposition will be not only a museum, but a mart, for all the objects exhibited will be for sale, and a constant variety and succession of contributions will thus be secured. At each extremity of the building will be an elegant refreshment pavilion. Opening off one of these will be a vast polygonal saloon, capable of holding 10,000 persons, where concerts and other entertainments will be given. The other pavilion will lead to a large machinery annex. Near the music hall will be two buildings of glass and iron, which will be used as winter gardens.
As I sit on the earthwork of the fortifications, surveying the busy scene before me, I wonder how far the programme of the undertaking is destined to be fulfilled. It is headed with this magniloquent invitation:—“Approach all you who think that the progress of the agriculture, the industry, and the commerce of a nation contributes to its general welfare; and that the more reciprocal intercourse is multiplied, the more national prejudices will be effaced.” One cannot doubt that the architect’s plan will be done justice to. Next August we shall see the palace with its brilliant façade, towering dome, and long roofs of glistening glass, gay with flags. But we have heard talk before, and nearer home, about popularising art and elevating commerce, through the peaceful rivalry of the genius and enterprise of all nations. We cannot but recollect with what sublime views the Sydenham Palace was established, and how far it has fallen short of them. Let us hope there may yet be a revival of our home institution, and that a better fate is reserved for that at Auteuil.
SEASONABLE WOOING.
When the merry Spring flung her odorous gifts
To the smiling Earth below,
’Till the hawthorn scattered o’er every hedge
Her flowery, fragrant snow;
And the bright-eye tapestried each sunny bank,
The blue-bells tinted each glade,
And the plenteous cowslip beneath our feet
A golden carpeting laid:
Then I wove wild blossoms to crown my love,
A queen on a throne of hay;
But she mocked my pains with a saucy smile,
And answered my love-suit nay.
But I breathed it again in the summer eve,
Adown in a leafy lane,
Where the frolic sunbeams might seek to pierce
The deep, cool shadow in vain;
Where the rustling ivy around the elm
Its glossiest garland weaves,
And the clinging bramble the pathway bars
With trails of silvery leaves.
Then the sweet wild-rose I plucked for her hair
And told my love with a sigh;
But she heard me again with a saucy smile,
That mocked a tear in her eye.
