ABSTRACT
[.] I took up my quarters in a classic locality of the city, almost under the shadow of the College reared by the munificence of Sir Thomas Gresham, 1 and illustrious by the names ofWren and Briggs. Though sadly exhausted by the jour-ney, I felt that it would be a reproach to me if I gave sleep to my eyes before I visited the temple of industry and art. I accordingly with some difficulty got a place in an omnibus, and in due time was set down at the south entrance, by which I was duly instructed to get the first glimpse of the interior, as being by far the finest view. The moment I was set down, the Palace flashed upon me in all its magnitude. It looked like a gigantic conservatory. It towered far aloft, and was surmounted by flaunting banners; on either side it seemed to extend ad infinitum, for where I stood I could see no termination to the vista. But I was allowed no time to contemplate its external dimensions. I was in the midst of a tumultuous sea of people, mingled with vehicles of every description. The scene was very bewildering. A policeman, who seemed instinctively to know that I was a brother Celt, kindly conducted me to where the people were admitted, through numerous narrow fissures in a barrier. I entered one of these, laid down a shilling, passed through a creaking turnstile which registered the donation, and in another moment stood with admiring gaze upon the threshold of the world’s last and greatest wonder. – But I must here pause and draw breath.
