In Memoriam: Temple Bar [pp. 75-80]

APPLETOPNS' JOURNAL.
ing within its walls, the inhabitant of the city came
within the operation of peculiar laws, had a voice in
the election of his own magistrates, was governed
by extraordinary courts, and was served by a special
and exclusive body of police having no jurisdiction
without the walls of Temple Bar. In the matter,
too, of being represented in Parliament, the inhabitant inside the city has ever been more honorably
considered than the dweller without; and in various
ways, and after many fashions, the citizens of inner
London have had their powers and privileges proclaimed almost from time immemorial by the presence of the old city toll-gate, which has become famous in later history as Temple Bar. To explain
all the nice distinctions between residence in the city
and residence in the metropolis, however, would occupy much time, and could hardly prove acceptable
or interesting to the general reader. Our present
purpose is to place on record a humble tribute of
recognition of the many and pleasant memories
clustering around the old structure, and maybe to
pick up a few fragments of story which its tumbling
stones are now scattering to the winds forever.
What American, we may ask, is there who has
visited London, who has not paused on his way from
the busy Strand into Fleet Street, to contemplate
for a moment the blackened and time-worn walls
of this most venerable and interesting monument?
Which of us, to whom the English capital is familiar,
has not stepped out of the way of eager and thronging wayfarers that he might linger at leisure over
the reminiscences its presence has provoked? What
lover of history is there, American or Englishman,
who has stood within the shadow of its walls, who
has not noted every surrounding object, in the hope
that he might perchance recognize and welcome some
familiar court, some house or building photographed
in the memory from the well-read pages of London's
famous story? Let us pause for a space while we
endeavor to recall with something of exactness the
outlines of the spot where many of us have stood
gazing upon this quaint old landmark of the. city:
On our left, the lordly beginnings of new London in
shape of the splendid and admirably-finished faiade
of the new Law Courts. To the right, the few remaining habitations forming the street-entrances to
the closes and alleys where dwelt the neighbors and
friends of Johnson and Goldsmith. In the background, one of the most prominent and noticeable
ecclesiastical edifices in London-the church of St.
Clement Danes, whose fair columns throw their
shadows across the ground made immortal by Shakespeare as the student-home of Master Shallow. In
the immediate foreground, that historic thoroughfare
than which, we are prepared to wage our reputation,
no other street in Europe has more pleasant reminiscences for Americans, or is so wealthy of s~ory, so abundant in anecdote, so interesting and, we must needs
add, so pathetic in tradition. Temple Bar seemed
somehow or other to be the stoutest link in the chain
which bound us to a lingering fondness for London.
It was the centre, as it were, of the England of the
past. Once within sight of its familiar archways,
the thoughts came crowding upon the mind as if in
friendly rivalry on the foremost and most earnest
consideration. We were once again back to the
days of childhood, before the animosities had had
time to grow into rankness, and were pondering
over the well-thlumbed pages of English history, and
raking together pleasant notes to be stored against
the time when we might be able to compare them
with our more matured opinions. We recall in a
moment that we have read that Elizabeth, resplendent in gorgeous farthingale of amber-satin and
stomacher of costly pearls, the crown upon her head,
the sceptre in her hand, surrounded by a gay and
glittering throng of nobles and fair ladies, riding in
a cumbrous, plumed coach, and saluted by the acclamations of the multitude, had passed through the
older gateway on her way to Paul's to return thanks
to God on the shattering and scattering of the Invincible Armada. Studious as we were as children,
it remains impressed in the memory that Temple
Bar has played a striking part in many a state pageant. Macaulay has told us of a royal procession
that passed under its centre arch-the very centre
arch now to be pulled to pieces-whose chief attractions were William of Orange and his queen, bent
upon commemorating the victories of Marlborough.
We remember to have read of the enthusiasm which
was aroused by the passing of George III. to offer
up his thanksgiving in the metropolitan cathedral for
his brief respite from insanity. And in our own day
we call to mind the quaint ceremony which took
place at the old gate when Queen Victoria and her
son thereat sought admission to the city on an occasion of national rejoicing.
As the ancient ceremony is now relegated to the
things of the past by the civic decree commanding
Temple Bar's removal, we may be pardoned, perhaps, if we give a brief description here of its main
features as ourselves saw it performed on the day of
thanksgiving for the Prince of Wales's recovery.
The old oak gates being shut against the queen's
coming, and the lord-mayor and civic potentates
being ranged in a glittering throng of gorgeouslyuniformed guardians of the city, the thousands of
citizens within and without the Bar await the ceremony. By-and-by, garter king-at-arms, clothed in
stiff tabard of cloth of gold, with the arms of England, Scotland, and Ireland, richly embroidered
upon it in colors, preceded by a herald, trumpet at
mouth, rides up to the ancient gateway. The herald blows a shrill blast upon the trumpet, and garter
rides forward to demand admission for the queen.
This being granted, and the doors thrown back,
the procession advances on its way until her majesty's carriage stands beneath the archway. The
lord-mayor, with his goodly array of courtiers, recorder, sword-bearer, mace-bearer, and marshal, rides
to the side of the queen's carriage, and the sovereign of the city with bended knee yields his sword
and presents his homage to the sovereign of the
land. The queen, with a smile, touches the hilt of
the sword in token that she accepts the fealty of the
chief magistrate, and then, bowing gracefully, inti
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