This fearful prophecy was fulfilled in a remarkable manner. The five sons of the protector died one after another without issue in the reign of Henry III., and the family became extinct. There are eight of these monumental effigies lying in the centre of the Round Church. It is to them Butler refers in his _Hudibras_, speaking of the profanation of the place by the lawyers of his time and their clients— “That ply in the Temple under trees, Or walk the Round with knights of the posts About the crossed‐legged knights, their hosts.” In the round walk of this church there is on one side a coped tombstone, in the style of the XIIth century, of a prismatic, coffin‐like shape. On the other side “You see a warrior carven in stone Lying in yon dim aisle alone, A warrior with his shield of pride Cleaving humbly to his side, And hands in resignation prest Palm to palm on his tranquil breast.” This is Lord Robert de Ros, another of the bold barons of Runnymede—a knight whose career was one long romance. Beautiful in person, the successful wooer of the Princess Isabella of Scotland, and “one of those military enthusiasts whose exploits form the connecting link between fact and fiction, between history and the fairy tale,” one cannot look at his figure here without interest and emotion. “O death! made proud with pure and princely beauty.” In fact, there is a wonderful air of mystery and romance about the whole of this solemn church. Here the young aspirant to knighthood used to come to keep his long vigil before the altar, and here gathered the Crusaders before setting off for the tomb of Christ. And chief among them the valiant Templars, in their long, flowing mantles, “whose stainless white their hearts belied not,” with the mystic cross upon their breasts, which Pope Eugenius had authorized them to wear. “And on his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he bore, And dead (as living) ever him adored. Upon his shield the like was also scor’d, For sovereign hope which in his helpe he had; Right faithful true he was in deed and word; But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad, Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.” We can never believe that, as a body, the early Templars were not worthy of their white garments. A bishop of Acre, who frequently accompanied them on their military expeditions, said of them: “Lions they are in war, gentle in the convent, fierce soldiers in the field, hermits and monks in religion; to the enemies of Christ ferocious and inexorable, but to Christians kind and gracious. They carry before them to battle a banner, half black and white, which they call _Beau‐seant_—that is to say, in the Gallic tongue, _Bien‐seant_, because they are fair and favorable to the friends of Christ, but black and terrible to his enemies.”