age. It has been standing, perhaps, seventy years, yet the whole style is still striking and elegant. The amplitude of the halls and stairways, in particular, give an air of great magnificence, affording space for statuary, candelabra, and ornamental furniture, such as is usually reserved for the drawing-rooms of our American houses, where the hall and stairs too often seem like an afterthought. It is very lofty and perfectly convenient, and as an abiding place for travellers can hardly be surpassed, at least while it continues under the present excellent management. The position, at the west end of the town, contiguous to Regent-street and the new and elegant portion of London, and elevated full seventy feet above the level of the river, is unrivalled.

Any account of the regular lions of London must of course be superfluous here, for the guide books have unconscionably taken the wind out of the tourist's sails in all these matters. Yet it goes hard to pass Westminster Abbey without a word; and it seems odd that St. Paul's, which filled so large a place in our thoughts, should occupy none at all on our paper; that that dear old toy-shop, the Tower, should but occupy our staring eyes for an hour, and then go undistinguished into the lumber-room of memory. But it is not possible to conceive, without actual observation, how much these things are vulgarized and turned into mere shows, by the mode in which they are exhibited. Whole parties of incongruous people are huddled together, and an automaton of a guide, marching at their head, doles out his dismal lesson, in a voice to which an active saw-mill would be no unfit accompaniment. If you would linger awhile, in the faint hope of calling up and rendering available your long-stored reminiscences of departed worth and beauty, the grating voice summons you to proceed at once. You have got what you paid for, and you must not take an extra look at Mary of Scotland, or a pencil note of some curious inscription, unless you can defer your romance and your researches until leave can be obtained from the dean for the indulgence of these proscribed feelings. The taking of money at the door for a sight of this great national monument, the glory of England and the remembrance of her great ones, has been so often commented upon, that one can't help thinking of those who have authority in the case under the figure of the deaf adder that stoppeth her ears. Yet it would really be almost as respectable to set up one's mother for a paying show, because her memory was stored with the great things of the past. Considering the lavish expenditure of the government in other directions, there is an odious meanness about this, and we may hope yet to see it abandoned.

All of St. Paul's that is really worth seeing is free. The noble portions are the only ones that

the traveller of taste should see. The vast area of the nave, the heaven-hung dome, the inside view from the Whispering Gallery, and the outer view from the Golden Gallery, are all. Whoever ascends further breaks the impression, and belittles his permanent image of this vast structure. The monuments have a modern air, and poor Dr. Johnson looks particularly forlorn, with nothing on but a sheet, as if he had been called out of bed by the cry of fire. This matter of drapery for statues becomes a subject of incessant conjecture, as one walks through these monumental aisles. wig and buckles of Dr. Johnson would not certainly be very classical, but he is not Dr. Johnson without them, and we desire nobody else as we stand near his grave. The equestrian statue of George III., which the wits say is

"a ridiculous thing,

The

All horse-tail and pig-tail and not an inch of king," is not a whit more ridiculous than the figure of Dr. Johnson in a costume, or non-costume, which would have been odious to him while living. If it was necessary to wind him in a sheet, he should have been represented as dead, and so unable to put himself in more proper trim for sitting to the artist.

At the Tower, the very things you would wish to see, are not open to the public. You are shown the armory, but not allowed time to examine particular articles which are really curious; you see a parcel of fine old seats with wax dolls in them cruelly set astride on wooden horses, and Queen Elizabeth, well-hung with glass beads, and looking at you out of glass eyes; and just as you are going out of a gallery where many minute things have been occupying your attention, you are told that here Sir Walter Raleigh took his exercise, during the long years during which he inhabited this gloomy abode; and in this dungeon on your left he slept but you must hurry on, and go to see would

-what! The Crown Jewels. If you thread the different courts of the Tower, seek out places of interest which abound within its precincts, pause to marshal your historical recollections, or venture a step out of sight of the stolid yeoman who goes before you fluttering like a maypole with his particolored ribbons-you are soon taught the difference between seeing the Tower and having it shown to you. The Tower, as a great historical fact, is not shown to you; some paltry adjuncts are all that you are allowed to visit. Surely there might be some arrangement by which travellers of decent standing and tolerable intelligence should be allowed to get a real knowledge of this structure, interesting by so many associations. At present the whole is a mere cockney show.

After the two great cathedrals, the Temple

Church is the best worth seeing of any in London. It is one of four round churches built in England by the Knights Templars, on their return from the Crusades, modelled on the Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. It has been restored within a few years, and is certainly one of the most beautiful and interesting monuments we have yet seen. Many Latin inscriptions done in red, and in ancient characters, adorn the walls; and antique delineations of the kings of England, during whose reigns the Templars reached the height of their power in England, are painted on the wall of the chancel. Various emblematic devices appear on the floors, the roof, the walls, repeated again and again; the winged horse of the Order, the red cross, the standard, half white, half black, called Beau-Séant; the double lion; and several mysterious birds and beasts, which we must leave to the heralds. The coloring is gorgeous, but not gaudy in effect; perhaps the exquisitely polished pillars of dark marble have the effect to chasten the whole. Some beautiful carving in oak adorns the chancel, but in general, the wood is plain. The altar, and the new-old windows, are glowing and appropriate; the arches rich in arabesques, quite in keeping with the oriental associations which hang about the Templars. But the precious things are the figures of the crusaders themselves; in the round part of the church, where are ten massive figures recumbent on the marble floor. In suits of mail, of different fashions of chain and plate armor; with helmets, but the visors unclasped; one with a great sword; another with his sword run through a lion's head; some with their legs crossed in token of a crusade actually accomplished, others in the usual position, betokening that, however good the intention, it was never carried into effect;-these figures all of solid metal or marble, have a majesty which fills the imagination. The faces, depicted in the death

We

calm, are dignified as death always is; and their character is so various, that one studies them in full confidence that they are true portraits of the mighty men of war of the twelfth century. The Knights Hospitallers of the order of St. John of Jerusalem, had possession when the Templars were dissolved, until they in their turn were disbanded by Henry VIII.; but we could discover no particular traces of their residence. attended service in this church, with the particular object of hearing the fine chanting by the choir. The organ is not a remarkably good one, but it was well played, and the singing was delicious. We observed a number of young boys among the white surpliced singers, but we could scarcely believe that some sweet strains which now and then relieved the more manly chant, were not from female lips. We are told, however, that there are no female singers. Much of the service was chanted, and the frequent responds of a musical “ A-men” to the spoken prayers, was most sweet. The sermon might better have been chanted too, for it was delivered in so low a tone that the congregation below the middle of the choir, which is the part used for worship, could not catch half the leading words To some of those who did hear, it was a little amusing to listen just at this crisis, to a sermon recommending implicit, "contented" obedience to "the powers that be," hardly allowing the possibility of a rightful resistance; and citing the "dreadful example of France" as a warning against any attempt to produce changes in government. The duties of rulers were touched upon, but with great briefness and caution; whilst the crime of dissatisfaction was drest in the most odious colors. The good old gentleman who preached to the Templars will certainly, like the vicar of Bray, hold his place, whatever king may reign.

How many an eye is fixed on thee,
At this so still and peaceful hour!
How many a heart, unknown to me,
Now feels thy tranquillizing power!
And who can happier be than I,

In all thy broad and bright domain,
With her, the gentle spirit nigh,

Whose voice is sweet as heaven's refrain?

Our vows were plighted long ago,

In thine own pure and holy light,

And years of wedded love but show
Their sacredness and truth to-night.
Fair orb, so closely linked with all
That gives the sweetest ties to life,
I bless thee for thy sacred thrall,
So like the blessed charm of WIFE.

O may our lives, in coming years,
Unlike thyself, refuse to wane,
But, shining in "this vale of tears,”
Like thee to-night, full-orb'd remain?