us in crimson velvet gown, and on horseback, of all
things in the world, the trumpets sounding as the gallant knight pricked
forth to demand of the herald, who he was and what was his message. The
bold herald, with his hat on, answered, regardless of Lindley Murray,
who was yet unknown, "We are the herald-at-arms appointed and commanded
by the Lords and Commons assembled in Parliament, and demand an entrance
into the famous City of London, to proclaim Charles II. King of England,
Scotland, France, and Ireland, and we expect your speedy answer to our
demand." An alderman then replied, "The message is accepted," and the
gates were thrown open.

When William III. came to see the City and the Lord Mayor's Show in
1689, the City militia, holding lighted flambeaux, lined Fleet Street as
far as Temple Bar.

The shadow of every monarch and popular hero since Charles II.'s time
has rested for at least a passing moment at the old gateway. Queen Anne
passed here to return thanks at St. Paul's for the victory of Blenheim.
Here Marlborough's coach ominously broke down in 1714, when he returned
in triumph from his voluntary exile.

George III. passed through Temple Bar, young and happy, the year after
his coronation, and again when, old and almost broken-hearted, he
returned thanks for his partial recovery from insanity; and in our time
that graceless son of his, the Prince Regent, came through the Bar in
1814, to thank God at St. Paul's for the downfall of Bonaparte.

On the 9th November, 1837, the accession of Queen Victoria, Alderman
Kelly, picturesque in scarlet gown, Spanish hat, and black feathers,
presented the City sword to the Queen at Temple Bar; Alderman Cowan was
ready with the same weapon in 1844, when the Queen opened the new Royal
Exchange; but in 1851, when her Majesty once more visited the City, the
old ceremony was (wrongly, we think) dispensed with.

At the funeral of Lord Nelson, the honoured corpse, followed by downcast
old sailors, was met at the Bar by the Lord Mayor and the Corporation;
and the Great Duke's funeral car, and the long train of representative
soldiers, rested at the Bar, which was hung with black velvet.

A few earlier associations connected with the present Bar deserve a
moment or two's recollection. On February 12th, when General
Monk--"Honest George," as his old Cromwellian soldiers used to call
him--entered London, dislodged the "Rump" Parliament, and prepared for
the Restoration of Cha