block and the rack have been doing their work; and hundreds daily visit the bloody apartments, to wonder at the cruelty of man, and to thank God that the day of darkness has passed, never to return. At times, the old walls have rung with shouts of joy, and anon echoed with groans of anguish. Now, the marriage festival has been held here; and anon, the bride is brought to the block, and her headless trunk and trunkless head roll over together, and are borne away to a dishonored grave.

In the Tower are kept the crown jewels, which are objects of much interest to those who are unaccustomed to the sight of such baubles. In this collection are crowns which have been worn by Charles II. and various other monarchs; scepters which have been used under different reigns; the royal spurs of gold worn at the coronations; the bracelets and other jewels worn by the queen on state occasions; the golden swords of mercy and justice; the baptismal stand from which the royal babies are sprinkled; the sacramental service used at coronations; with many other baubles, the use of which I did not know. The object of all others in which I was most interested was the new crown made for Victoria, and worn at her coronation. It is a sort of baby cap, of purple velvet, "enclosed by silver hoops, covered with diamonds. Surmounting these hoops is a ball, also adorned with small diamonds, bearing a cross formed of brilliants, in the center of which is a unique sapphire. In the front of this crown is the heart-formed ruby stated to have been worn by Edward the Black Prince." What these toys cost, and at what they are valued, I could form no estimate, nor could the good old lady, who, with a consequential air, admitted us into the room, inform me.

On one occasion, a bold attempt was made to steal these crown jewels, and would have succeeded but for the bravery of the old man who at that time had them in his care. The robber, however, escaped without punishment, and afterwards became a man of eminence and honor.

These visits to the Tower made a deep and lasting impression. I cannot now forget those tokens and evidences of the past; and they often rise before me, spoiling some fair vision, and dissipating some dream of good. The block, the ax, the rack, the chain, remain, while the tyrant and the victim have passed away. Long will the Tower stand. The history of England for past centuries is written there, and read there by hundreds every day. It is a dark history, such as one would read at midnight, and over which, as yet, tears enough have not been shed to blot it out. What St. Angelo is to Rome, the Tower is to London.

Having glanced at the nobility of England, it is proper that we should visit the place where their ashes lie, and where their dead repose. Westminster Abbey needs no description. It has stood for centuries, one of the greatest monuments of the old world. Once monks and friars chanted solemn services beneath its arches; it is now the tomb of dead kings and a perished nobility. Every day a service is performed by the priests of the reformed religion, and every night the moon looks through the old windows upon the shadows of the mighty past. There all the monarchs of England are crowned in an old chair, which none of us would keep in our houses, and which, for the purpose of coronation, is covered with velvet. Here the diadem was placed upon the head of Victoria, and from these walls went out the glad shout of the pop

ulace. I felt an indescribable awe creeping over me as I stood in the Poets Corner, and read the names of Jonson, Spenser, Milton, Gray, Dryden, Thomson, Southey, Shakspeare, Addison, and a host of others; or wandered down the nave, or across the transept, into the chapels of Henry VII. and the others; into the cold cloisters where monks once sat, where the dead now live in monuments and inscriptions of during might. Here are kings who went down from thrones and from blocks; generals who fell on battle fields, or in the loved retreats of home; poets who have won immortal renown; men of wealth, fashion, skill, and piety; all, all, in one common sepulcher, repose in the embrace of death. Monuments of all forms, and covered with all kinds of inscriptions, true and false; statues, busts, blocks, and slabs, some as old as the venerable pile itself, and some of yesterday, uttering the mortality of the great, and wise, and good ;·

"Marble monuments are here displayed,

Thronging the walls; and on the floor beneath
Sepulchral stones appear, with emblems graven,
And foot-worn epitaphs; and some with small
And shining effigies of brass inlaid.

The tribute by those various records claimed
Without reluctance do we pay - and read

The obituary chronicle of birth,

Office, alliance, and promotion - all
Ending in dust."

I found opportunity, when weary of the noise, strife, and confusion of the great city, to retire, as I did on several occasions, to muse on man, his pomp, pride, and end. It did my heart good to sit down in that old vaulted place, or to walk along the damp cloisters, or look through into the chapels, and hold communion

with the dead past. In St. Paul's, and in the churches of London, the English service, drawled out, seemed to me to be most miserable mockery. But in the Abbey, it filled my soul with unutterable solemnity. It sounded so much like death, and death as it was there, in that old cathedral, that its effect was irresistible.

And methinks the coronation of the monarchs of England in that venerated edifice would have something of mournfulness about it. When from the tower and the temple, across the parks and down the broad ways, comes the mighty tide, moving into the Abbey and filling it full, there must be heard the voices of the past swelling out from rich sarcophagus and stately tomb, to speak to that crowned one of dust and ashes. There must be, with all the gayety, some mournful association connected with that glad service, which testifies to the surging masses that they have come to the house of death, as well as to the temple of life. The ringing bells, thundering cannon, harmonious anthems, shouting crowds, and brilliant ceremonies cannot drive away the shades of the dim old arches, as they seem to bend, in worship or mockery, over the life which will soon be closed in death.

Were I about to lay aside my manhood and become a monk, or a friar, and give myself up to the mistaken notions of a religious life, and could I choose the spot where my self-imposed seclusion should be passed, I would select that emblem of eternity, which stands alone, a sepulcher amidst the tumultuous beatings of life, in the very heart of the great metropolis - WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

XII.

MEN AND THINGS.

THE display made by the nobles of England on public occasions is very great, and even on ordinary Occasions is greater than that of any other nation which I have visited. On any bright, beautiful afternoon, during the past summer, a stranger might have been amused for hours in watching the carriages of the nobles as they drove in and out of Hyde Park. I stood at the gate one day, and saw them rolling out at the rate of six hundred an hour; and seldom has any military display been of more interest. There seemed a wealth and dignity to all this unlike any such exhibition I had ever seen. The carriages were drawn by two or four horses, beautifully harnessed, while the coachman, with his powdered wig, sitting on the box, and the footmen, with their gay red velvet breeches and blue coats, standing behind, seemed as proud as their masters who rode within. Sometimes these carriages are preceded by outriders on horseback, and not unfrequently have I noticed some five or six men in attendance upon one lady. In more than one instance I noticed that the only occupant of the carriage was a pet dog, who seemed to enjoy the sport finely. In such cases, I presume the family did not wish to ride, and sent out their servants and equipage to keep up the dignity of the parade:

The English ladies, as far as I could see, though I do