There is a stately old church--the work of Hawkesmoor--in Hart Street, close to the British Museum. It is well grimed and blackened over, but there is something imposing in its Pantheon-like portico, and above all its extraordinary, and possibly unique, steeple. This is of a very daring and original pattern, and consists of a pillared lantern, on which rises a sort of heavy, massive stone pyramid that ascends in graduated steps. Carried to a great height, it terminates in a circular pedestal, with a garland running round it, and on the pedestal is--what? The reader is little likely to guess. A gigantic statue in Roman guise of His Majesty George I.! There is something quaint and exceptional in this form of steeple. And yet, so judicious and effective is the architecture of the whole, so impressive, that there is really nothing grotesque in the result. During a short interval lately the adjoining houses were levelled and the whole of the church exposed to view, with excellent effect. Many who have never noticed it before have been struck by its originality and dignified air. But now the builders are erecting hoardings, so this glimpse will have been but a temporary one, and by-and-by the church will be shut out once more. CHAPTER XXIV. MODERN CHURCHES. After passing in review these stately fanes, centuries old, we turn to survey what the genius of modern architecture has contributed in this way to the adornment of London. The contrast is extraordinary. In the churches built within a century or so, we find little expression or meaning; nothing that tempts us to linger--their builders seem uninspired. There are indeed but two or three that have any pretension. One, ambitious and vast, is Sir Gilbert Scott’s gigantic Gothic temple at Kensington, which replaced a quaint old-fashioned church. In spite of its cost and size, it is singularly bald and unsatisfactory. The tower and spire are of unusual proportions; but the whole is inexpressive and cold. So awkwardly placed is it, that the door cannot be reached without an exposed walk through the inclosure, and on weddings and such festive occasions a long covered way has to be erected to enable the parties to reach their carriages under shelter. We may also turn to the remarkable church of All Saints, in Margaret Street, the work of an architect of much feeling and ability, Mr. Butterfield. We should note how on a small patch of ground he has grouped his church and presbytery, so as to convey the idea of space and of something imposing. The mixture of black and dull red bricks is very happy and successful, and the beauty of the lines of the spire, seen from many quarters, is remarkable. We always look upon this pile with interest, as carrying out with perfect success the aims intended. The little inclosure in front is cleverly disposed, and, though next the street, has quite a monastic air. Within, the effect of gorgeous and rich details is quite overpowering, the walls