There was a mist over London, so that we did not gain a very clear view,
except of the swarms of people running about, like ants, in the streets
at the foot of the Monument.
Descending, I put S----- and the children into a cab, and I myself
wandered about the city. Passing along Fleet Street, I turned in through
an archway, which I rightly guessed to be the entrance to the Temple. It
is a very large space, containing many large, solemn, and serious
edifices of dark brick, and no sooner do you pass under the arch than all
the rumble and bustle of London dies away at once; and it seems as if a
person might live there in perfect quiet, without suspecting that it was
not always a Sabbath. People appear to have their separate residences
here; but I do not understand what is the economy of their lives. Quite
in the deepest interior of this region, there is a large garden,
bordering on the Thames, along which it has a gravel-walk, and benches
where it would be pleasant to sit. On one edge of the garden, there is
some scanty shrubbery, and flowers of no great brilliancy; and the
greensward, with which the garden is mostly covered, is not particularly
rich nor verdant.
Emerging from the Temple, I stopped at a tavern in the Strand, the waiter
of which observed to me, "They say Sebastopol is taken, sir!" It was
only such an interesting event that could have induced an English waiter
to make a remark to a stranger, not called for in the way of business.
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