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2. There was the gentle feminine countenance of Thomson, and the majestic head of Dryden. Addison with his classic features, and Gray, full of the fire of lofty thought. In another chamber, I paused long before the tablet to Shakespeare; and while looking at the monument of Garrick, started to find that I stood upon his grave. What a glorious galaxy of genius is here collected,

—what a constellation of stars whose light is immortal! The mind is fettered by their spirit, everything is forgotten but the mighty dead, who still "rule us from their urns.”

3. We proceeded to the chapel of Edward the Confessor, within the splendid shrine of which his ashes repose. Here the chair on which the English monarchs have been crowned for several hundred years was exhibited. Under the seat is the stone, brought from the Abbey of Scone, whereon the Kings of Scotland were crowned. Near this is the hall where the Knights of the Order of. the Bath met. Over each seat their dusty banners are still hanging. It resembled a banqueting-hall of the olden time, where the knights had left their seats for a moment vacant.

4. Entering the nave, we were lost in the wilderness of sculpture. Here stood the forms of Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, and Watts, from the chisels of Chantrey, Bacon, and Westmacott. Farther down were Sir Isaac Newton and Sir Godfrey Kneller,-opposite André and Paoli, the Italian, who died here in exile. How can I convey an idea of the scene! Notwithstanding all the descriptions I had read, I was totally unprepared for the reality, nor could I have anticipated the hushed and breathless interest with which I paced the dim aisles, gazing at every step on the last resting-place of some great and familiar

A place so sacred to all who inherit the English


tongue is worthy of a special pilgrimage across the deep. To those who are unable to visit it a description may be

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interesting; but so far does it fall short of the scene itself, that if I thought it would induce a few of our wealthy idlers, or even those who like myself must travel with toil and privation to come hither, I would write till the pen dropped from my hand.


5. We walked down the Thames through the narrow streets of Wapping.

Over the mouth of the Tunnel is a large circular building with a dome to light the entrance below. Paying a fee of a penny, we descended by a winding staircase to the bottom, which is seventy-three feet below the surface. The carriage-way, still unfinished, will extend farther into the city. From the bottom, the view of the two arches of the Tunnel, brilliantly lighted with gas, is very fine; it has a much less heavy and gloomy appearance than I expected.

6. The air within is somewhat damp, but fresh and agreeably cool, and one can scarcely realise, in walking along the light passage, that a river is rolling above his head. The immense solidity and compactness of the structure precludes the danger of accident, each of the sides being arched outwards, so that the heaviest pressure only strengthens the work. It will long remain a noble monument of human daring and ingenuity.—Bayard Taylor.

Heads of examination on the lesson:—Side from which the Abbey was approached? Of what different poets were the monuments remarked? What seen in Edward's Chapel? The impression made on the writer's mind?


1. Mortality, behold and fear,

What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within this heap of stones;

2. Here they lie had realms and lands

Who now want help to stir their hands;
Where, from their pulpits, seald with dust,
They preach, “In greatness is no trust."

3. Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest, royalest seed
That the earth did e'er suck in
Since the first man died for sin:
Here the bones of birth have cried,

Though gods they were, as men they died !"

4. Here are sands, ignoble things,

Dropt from the ruined sides of kings.
Here's a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

--Beaumont (1586–1616).

an acre.

The word acre means a field. The graveyard is God's


Buried in dust, once dead by fate. The meaning of this line is doubtful. Various emendations of it have been suggested, on the supposition that the present form of the line may be due to a printer's error.


1. A weary, wandering soul am I,

O'erburdened with an earthly weight;
A pilgrim through the world and sky,

Toward the Celestial Gate.

2. Tell me, ye sweet and sinless flowers,

Who all night gaze upon the skies,

Have ye not in the silent hours

Seen aught of Paradise ? 3. Ye birds, that soar and sing, elate

With joy, that makes your voices strong, Have ye not at the golden gate

Caught somewhat of your song? 4. Ye waters, sparkling in the morn,

Ye seas, which glass the starry night,
Have ye not from the imperial bourn

Caught glimpses of its light?
5. Ye hermit oaks, and sentinel pines,

Ye mountain forests, old and gray,
In all your long and winding lines,

Have ye not seen the way?
6. O! Moon, among thy starry bowers,

Know'st thou the path the angels tread? Seest thou beyond thy azure towers

The shining gates dispread?
7. Ye holy spheres, that sang with earth,

When earth was still a sinless star,
Have the immortals heavenly birth


realms afar? 8. And thou, O Sun! whose light unfurls

Bright banners through unnumbered skies, Seest thou among thy subject worlds

The radiant portals rise ?
9. All, all are mute! and still am I

O'erburdened with an earthly weight;
A pilgrim through the world and sky,

Towards the Celestial Gate.

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