Taking our leave, we returned along Victoria Street--a new street,
penetrating through what was recently one of the worst parts of the town,
and now bordered with large blocks of buildings, in a dreary,
half-finished state, and left so for want of funds--till we came to
Westminster Abbey. We went in and spent an hour there, wandering all
round the nave and aisles, admiring the grand old edifice itself, but
finding more to smile at than to admire in the monuments. . . . . The
interior view of the Abbey is better than can be described; the heart
aches, as one gazes at it, for lack of power and breadth enough to take
its beauty and grandeur in. The effect was heightened by the sun shining
through the painted window in the western end, and by the bright sunshine
that came through the open portal, and lay on the pavement,--that space
so bright, the rest of the vast floor so solemn and sombre. At the
western end, in a corner from which spectators are barred out, there is a
statue of Wordsworth, which I do not recollect seeing at any former
visit. Its only companion in the same nook is Pope's friend, Secretary
Craggs.
Downing Street, that famous official precinct, took its name from Sir
George Downing, who was proprietor or lessee of property there. He was a
native of my own old native town, and his descendants still reside
there,--collateral descendants, I suppose,--and follow the drygoods
business (drapers).
August 10th.
Pages:
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578