thunderbolt," he writes, "would have been as welcome to me as this
intelligence. To require my attendance at the bar of the House, that I
might there publicly entitle myself to the office, was in effect to
exclude me from it. In the mean time, the interest of my friend, the honor
of his choice, my own reputation and circumstances, all urged me forward,
all urged me to undertake what I saw to be impracticable." The mental
agony he suffered was wellnigh unbearable. He even contemplated with some
calmness the coming of mental derangement, that thereby he might have good
reason for throwing up the appointment. He made many attempts to destroy
himself. "He purchased laudanum, but threw it away. He went down to the
Custom-House Quay to throw himself into the river. He tried to stab
himself." Finally, the most desperate attempt of all to extinguish the
lamp of life took place in his Temple chambers. Thrice he essayed to hang
himself by his garter,--first on his high canopy bedstead, and then on the
door.

The public way which, starting at Fleet Street, runs between the Temple
Church and Goldsmith Buildings, is a curious thoroughfare,--street it
cannot be called. It inclines somewhat toward the river, with a very
narrow foot-walk, scarcely wide enough for two to pass abreast. On one
side is the hoary sanctuary, and on the other a row of gloomy,
flat-fronted houses, whose dirty windows blink drowsily on the flagged way
beneath.

The pavement of a part of this thoroughfare is unique. It consists of old
tombstones. In 1842, the entire available space in the churchyard being
covered with graves, the benchers decided to permit no more interments
there, and ordered it to be paved over. A path now runs directly across
the old cemetery, where rest the bones of the Knights Templar and their
dependants, and many of the sculptured stones have become paving-flags.
Worn and polished by the passage of many feet, the epitaphs are entirely
defaced. Here and there a few letters of antique cut may with difficulty
be deciphered; but soon no sign will survive to tell of this painful
desecration.

A little outside the roadway the ground is slightly elevated, and near to,
but outside of, the gilt-tipped railings which enclose the Temple Church
lies a very unpretending slab of marble. Rising but a few inches above the
level, one corner sunken and green with earth-mould, it is but a single
remove from the general decay around it. No fence protects i