f the ancient
edifice in which the monarchs of England are crowned. We quitted our
hotel at nine o'clock, and, pushing our way through the hurrying crowds
of the Strand, speedily arrived at Temple Bar. We then turned down a
dingy, narrow passage, on our right hand; this led us to the Temple,
which is like a little town of itself, and is almost exclusively
inhabited by lawyers. It was amusing enough to notice the gentlemen in
powdered horse-hair wigs and flowing black robes, like a clergyman's,
who every now and then emerged from some open door, and flitted across
the courts, each having a bundle of papers tied with red tape, or a book
under his arm. Whilst occupied in observing these Templars of modern
times, the tones of an organ fell on my ear, for we were close to the
Temple Church, one of the most beautiful sanctuaries in the world. The
early morning service was not concluded so we entered without ceremony.
Externally, the building has little in the way of architectural
decorations to recommend it. It is low, destitute of tower or steeple,
and surrounded by gloomy-looking lawyers' offices. But no sooner had we
crossed the threshold than a scene of surpassing beauty burst upon us. I
should here tell you that this edifice, which is intended for the
exclusive use of members of the Temple, is very ancient. The church
formerly belonged to the Knights Templars. It was built in 1185, and the
choir was added in 1240. For years and years the building was neglected
by the legal gentlemen; but in 1839 it was proposed to restore the
former glories of the place, and the outlay of seventy thousand pounds
has caused it to stand out in all its pristine beauty. The form of the
church is octagonal. The ceiling, sides, and altar are all decorated in
the mediaeval style. The pipes of the organ dazzle you with their purple
and golden splendors. The floor is of encaustic tiles. On the walls are
displayed the names and coats of arms of those members of the Temple who
have been raised to the dignity of judges. On all these objects the
sunshine, streaming through superbly-painted windows, produced quite a
kaleidoscope effect. The _coup d'oeil_ was almost too dazzling, and
strikingly contrasted in my mind with the primitive simplicity of our
New England churches. In this church I found that some great men had
been buried. The learned Sir John, Selden, the author of "Table Talk;"
Howell, whose old letters we have so much enjoyed together; Gibbo