The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 355, February 7, 1829

VILLAS IN THE REGENT'S PARK

MARQUESS OF HERTFORD'S VILLA.

DORIC VILLA.

The definition of the word villa is a country seat; but the reader will ask, how can a country seat be in the midst of a metropolis, or in its brick and mortar confines? The term, however, admits of various modifications. The villas of the Romans resembled large city palaces removed into the country, and some of them were four times larger than Versailles with its three thousand apartments. The villas of modern Rome likewise more resemble palaces than abodes of domestic convenience; and one of them, the Villa Mondrogone, has more windows than there are days in the year. Such are the Italian villas, of which the name conveys as accurate an idea as the English reader acquires from the French chateau, which, in reality, implies a comfortless factory-looking abode, with a blaze of fresco embellishments.

The first engraving in the annexed page is the villa, or, we should rather say, the suburban retreat, of the Marquess of Hertford, designed by Mr. Decimus Burton. The noble owner, who has enjoyed the peculiar advantages of travel, and is a man of vertu and fine taste, has selected a design of beautiful simplicity and chastity of style. The entrance-hall is protected by a hexastyle (six column) portico of that singular Athenian order, which embellishes the door of the Tower of the Winds. The roof is Venetian, with projecting eaves; and the wings are surmounted by spacious glass lanterns, which light the upper rooms. The buildings and offices are on a larger scale than any other in the park, and correspond in style with the opulence of the noble owner. The offices are spread out, like the villas of the ancients, upon the ground-floor. Adjoining the front of the villa is a tent-like canopy, surmounting a spacious apartment, set aside, we believe, for splendid dejeuné entertainments in the summer. This roof may be seen from several parts of the park. The entrance lodge is particularly chaste, the gates are in handsome park-like style; and the plantations and ornamental gardens in equally good taste. The establishment is, as we have said, the most extensive in the Regent's Park, and is in every respect in correspondent taste with the beautiful Italian fronted town residence of the noble marquess, opposite the Green Park, in Piccadilly; and its luxurious comforts well alternate with the fashionable hospitalities of Sudborne Hall, the veritable country seat of this distinguished nobleman.

The second engraving is another specimen of the Regent's Park villa style. The order is handsome Doric; but much cannot be said in praise of its adaptation to a suburban residence. It nevertheless adds the charm of variety to the buildings that stud and encircle the park, and intermingle with lawns and bowery walks with more prettiness than rural character.

DESTRUCTION OF THE INTERIOR OF YORK MINSTER. ¹

On Monday morning last, this magnificent structure was discovered to be on fire. Soon after the alarm was given, the bells of twenty-three churches announced the dismal tidings; but for some time the people looked upon the report as a hoax, and it was not until after the lapse of an hour that the city was fairly roused to a sense of the impending calamity.

On the Sunday evening previous, there was service in the Minster, as usual, and all appeared to be left safe. A light was, however, observed in the building, by a man passing through the Minster-yard, about four o'clock on Monday morning; but he supposed some workmen were employed there, and passed on without inquiry. Between six and seven o'clock, the discovery was made in an extraordinary manner. One of the choristers passing through the Minster-yard, accidentally stepping on a piece of ice, was thrown on his back, in which position he saw a quantity of smoke issuing from the roof.

In a letter dated York, February 2nd, the writer thus hastily describes the extent of the conflagration:—

The first appearance I observed was the issue of an immense volume of smoke from the junction of the western towers with the nave, a smaller column from the great tower, and a third column from the roof of the choir, thus presenting the appearance of the building being on fire in all parts, whilst a dense smoke filled the interior to such a degree as to preclude the immediate entrance of the firemen. At length, the engines were rolled into the august edifice, when a scene beyond all description presented itself; the interior of the choir enveloped in flames, reflected upon the beautiful stained glass. The flames soon burst through the roof of the choir, and in less than an hour the whole was in a blaze, and the melted lead poured down the spouting. The roof soon fell in, in about five or six dreadful crashes. Every effort was made to prevent the flames spreading to the transept and nave, and I trust with success, for though the engines are now (midnight) still playing, I do not find that there is any other fire than the remains of the roof on the floor of the choir.

The damage may be summed up thus: The roof of the choir quite gone, the wood work on each side consumed, the matchless organ entirely destroyed, many monuments broken, and the communion plate melted. On the other hand, the east window is entire to the surprise of every one, the screen is uninjured, although immediately below the organ, the records in the vestry, the horn of Ulphus,² the coronation chair, and the brass eagle are saved, and the wills in the Prerogative office are all safely lodged in Belfrey's Church. For some time the city was in considerable danger; flakes of fire were carried as far as the Lord Mayor's Walk; providentially there was very little wind.

From another account we learn that communication with the roof was not at first apprehended, but the roof of the choir being very dry wood, soon joined in the conflagration. It is impossible to describe the awful picture of the flames rising above this majestic building. The effect produced by the glare of light upon the stained glass of the windows exceeds description. On the falling of the roof, the house of prayer, which but the evening before had resounded with the voices of worshippers, and where all was order and harmony, now resembled a fiery furnace. The pillars, which once served to divide the choir from the two side aisles, now stood alone, the whole being an open space, with the roof burning on the ground, and nothing above but the blue canopy of heaven.

Mr. Britton, in his valuable work on York Cathedral, gives a minute description of that part of the Minster which has been destroyed; from which the following is extracted:—

"After passing through the screen, the visiter is introduced to the choir, which is grand in scale and rich in adornment. On each side is a series of 20 stalls, with 12 at the west end, beneath the organ. These are of oak, and are peculiarly rich in their canopies and carved decorations. Each seat, or stall, has its movable miserecordia, with projecting rests for the elbows, from which rise two detached slender columns, supporting an elaborate canopy. At the eastern end of the choir is the altar-table, raised above the regular floor by a series of 15 steps.

"On the north side of the altar, over the grated window that lights the crypt, is an ancient pew, or gallery, to which there is an ascent by a flight of narrow stairs, of solid blocks of oak. The exterior of this gallery is very neat, and it is certainly older than the Reformation.

"Behind the stalls of the choir are closets, some of which are used as vestries by the singing-men: modern staircases have been constructed, leading to the galleries erected above, and which disfigure the view into the aisles. These closets are fronted, next the aisles, by open screens of oak, some of which are of excellent carving, and more elaborate than others. In the centre of the choir stands a desk for the vicars-choral to chant the litany in; it is enclosed in a pew of carved wood."

The Minster was lighted with gas, to which the conflagration was at first attributed; but the fire appears to have originated in one of the vestries. When we remember the beauty of the carved work which has thus been destroyed, and the elaborate skill which had been bestowed on its execution, our sympathies are deeply awakened for its fate. Indeed, the most listless admirer of art, as well as the antiquarian devotee, has just cause to lament this accident; especially as the taste and labours of our times fall far short of the olden glories of architecture. When we think of the "unsubstantial pageant" of the recent "Festival," and associate its fleeting show with the desert remains of this venerable pile, our feelings deepen into melancholy, and the smoking fragments of art seem to breathe—

 
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me,
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.