Except it be St.
Bartholomew's hospital on one side, there is nothing interesting in this
ugly square; though, no doubt, a few feet under the pavement there are
bones and ashes as precious as anything of the kind on earth. I wonder
when men will begin to erect monuments to human error; hitherto their
pillars and statues have only been for the sake of glorification. But,
after all, the present fashion may be the better and wholesomer. . . . .
November 16th.--Mr. Silsbee called yesterday, and talked about matters of
art, in which he is deeply interested, and which he has had good
opportunities of becoming acquainted with, during three years' travel on
the Continent. He is a man of great intelligence and true feeling, and
absolutely brims over with ideas,--his conversation flowing in a constant
stream, which it appears to be no trouble whatever to him to keep
up. . . . . He took his leave after a long call, and left with us a
manuscript, describing a visit to Berlin, which I read to my wife in the
evening. It was well worth reading. He made an engagement to go with us
to the Crystal Palace, and came rather for that purpose this morning.
We drove to the London Bridge station, where we bought return tickets
that entitled us to admission to the Palace, as well as conveyance
thither, for half a crown apiece. On our arrival we entered by the
garden front, thus gaining a fine view of the ornamental grounds, with
their fountains and stately pathways, bordered with statues; and of the
edifice itself, so vast and fairy-like, looking as if it were a bubble,
and might vanish at a touch.
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