ison buildings
hitherto erected are hid from the sight by the high boundary wall that
encloses them, producing nothing interesting to the citizen or the
traveller but a monotonous facade. Mr. Brown has obviated this in the
gaol before us, by having raised towers on the ends of the four wings,
which, with the top of the governor's house, mill, and infirmary, being
seen rising above the boundary wall and entrance front, produces to the
eye of the spectator on approaching the prison a _tout ensemble_ truly
imposing and grand.

ARCHITECTUS.

* * * * *

LIVING AUTHORS.

No. 1.

* * * * *

BERNARD BARTON.

"Sheltered, but not to social duties lost;
Secluded, but not buried; and with song
Cheering his days."

The productions of Mr. Barton are doubtless familiar to most of our
readers, and from them they have learnt much of the amiable turn of
the poet's character. Mr. Barton's compositions afford indications of
genuine feeling, of deep affection, of benevolence, sympathy, taste, and
integrity; he seems to have an ear ever on the listen for the accents of
charity, patriotism, and religion; where human anguish causes the tear
to start, there he would fain be to soothe and alleviate. Such is the
character of the poet, and in the following sketch such will be proved
to be the character of the man.

Bernard Barton was born in the vicinity of London, on the 31st of
January, 1784. His father was in trade in the metropolis, whither he had
come from his native place, Carlisle. Bernard had the misfortune to lose
his mother one month after his birth: her maiden name was Mary Done, and
she was a native of Rockcliffe, Cumberland; she died at the early age of
thirty-two. The following lines _To a Profile_ evince the feelings with
which our poet still cherishes her memory, or rather the recollection of
what has been told him respecting her:--

"I knew thee not! then wherefore gaze
Upon thy silent shadow there,
Which so imperfectly portrays
The form thy features used to wear?
Yet have I often looked at thee,
As if those lips could speak to me.

I knew thee not! and thou couldst know,
At best, but little more of one
Whose pilgrimage on earth below
Commenced, just ere thy own was done;
For few and fleeting days were thine,
To hope or fear for lot of mine.

Yet few and fleeting as they were,
Fancy and feeli