I now went to the Temple Gardens, where, according to great Will, began the wars of York and Lancaster, by the plucking of the two roses; and, for a while, I sauntered about those pleasant walks, in the company of one of the benchers, feeling very much as if I had found a little Oxford on the margin of the Thames. After a subsequent visit to the room which Dr. Johnson once inhabited, and sauntering through courts and alleys, where one sees many a celebrated name painted over a door, as a business sign, we entered the Temple Church. Great restorations have been made here of late, at an immense expense, and generally in good taste and on correct principles, save that unsightly seats, too much like pews, encumber the space in front of the altar, which ought to be entirely open. What a reverend old Church; built in the twelfth century by Crusaders, and consecrated by a Patriarch of Jerusalem! Under its walls, inside, lies Selden, and outside, lies Oliver Goldsmith; but, to me, its most sacred interest is the fact, that here the immortal Hooker erected those noble defences of the Church of England which broke the rising tide of Puritanism, and ultimately saved us from its floods. Here that great “Master of the Temple,” while his inmost soul was panting for a quiet country cure, bore patiently the heat and burthen of the day, in wearisome conflict with the dogged Travers, who could always preach “_Geneva_ in the afternoon, against the morning _Canterbury_.” On entering “the Round,” you are struck with its venerable effect, heightened by the fine figures of the old Templars, stretched, cross-legged, upon the floor. These figures were sadly mutilated, but have been admirably restored. The Round is free from pewing, and opens into the choir, where the benchers’ stalls are ranged on either hand. The two societies of the Middle and Inner Temple worship here together, and their respective arms—a Pegasus and a Lamb—are interchanged in the showy decorations of the vaulting.