“This CRYPT was entered both from the upper apartment and the street, as well as by a flight of stone stairs winding round a pillar, which led into it from the nearest Pier: whilst in the front of this latter entrance, the Sterling formed a platform at low water, which thus rendered it accessible from the River. The Lower Chapel, which--even decorated as _that_ was, in my estimation, very far exceeded the upper one in architectural beauty,--was about 20 feet in height, and its roof supported by clustered columns, similar to those I have already described; from each of which sprang seven ribs, the centre, and the two adjoining it in every division, being bound by fillets with roses on the intersections; whilst the great horizontal ribs had clusters of regal and ecclesiastical masks, producing an effect little to be expected in such a structure, in such a situation; though I may trust to your correct taste, my good Mr. Barbican, for duly appreciating it. There was also a rich SERIES OF WINDOWS IN THE LOWER CHAPEL, [Illustration] which looked on to the water, similar in character to, though much smaller than, those above: whilst the floor was beautifully paved with black and white marble; for in this place did the pious Architect propose to rest his bones. His monument, remarkable only for its plainness, was formed, according to Maitland’s ‘_History_,’ page 46, under the Chapel staircase, in the middle of the building; and it measured seven feet and an half, by four in breadth. There was, indeed, neither brass plate, nor inscription, nor carving found about the sepulchre, when Mr. Yaldwin, the inhabitant of the Chapel in 1737, then a dwelling, and warehouse, discovered the remains of a body in repairing the staircase; though, from the ‘_Annals of Waverley_,’ page 168, we know that the reliques of Peter were certainly entombed in this place. ‘In 1205,’--runs the passage,--‘died Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London, and he is sepultured in the Chapel upon the Bridge.’ By this entry then, we are assured that he lay there; and as for an epitaph, was not the whole edifice an everlasting catafalco to his memory, which should speak for all times? How finely, indeed, might we apply to him that inscription, which the son of Sir Christopher Wren composed for his father’s burial-place in St. Paul’s,--‘He lived, not for himself, but for the public! Reader, if you seek his monument, look around you!’