I AS born, and passed t seven years of my life, in temple. Its cs s gardens, its fountain, its river, I  said -- for in t o me but a stream t ered our pleasant places? -- t recollections. I repeat, to to myself more frequently, or ion, t.

    towers,

    th ride,

    udious lawyers heir bowers,

    t templer knigo bide,

    till through pride.

    Indeed, it is t elegant spot in tropolis.  a transition for a countryman visiting London for t time -- trand or Fleet-street, by unexpected avenues, into its magnificent ample squares, its classic green recesses!  a c portion of it,  goodly pile

    Of building strong, albeit of Paper ,

    confronting, rast, ter, older, more fantastically s,  opposite tately stream,  scarcely trade-polluted ers, and seems but just e aspect  fine Elizabetain plays, o toundment of temporaries, o guess at its recondite mac tempted to  an antique air  effaced sun-dials, ions, seeming coevals  time ake tions of its fligely from ain of ligeal imperceptibly on, co detect its movement, never catc cloud -- or t arrests of sleep!

    A doty like a dial-hand

    Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived!

    a dead ts ponderous embos of lead and brass, its pert or solemn dulness of communication, compared ar-like structure, and silent -language of t stood as tian gardens.  almost every e inventions, its moral uses, its beauty, migs continuance. It spoke of moderate labours, of pleasures not protracted after sun-set, of