'This,' said I, returning with a manuscript I had taken at the
moment, from the same repository, 'to be opened to such music,
should be a tale where London's face by night is darkly seen, and
where some deed of such a time as this is dimly shadowed out.
Which of us here has seen the working of that great machine whose
voice has just now ceased?'
Mr. Pickwick had, of course, and so had Mr. Miles. Jack and my
deaf friend were in the minority.
I had seen it but a few days before, and could not help telling
them of the fancy I had about it.
I paid my fee of twopence upon entering, to one of the money-
changers who sit within the Temple; and falling, after a few turns
up and down, into the quiet train of thought which such a place
awakens, paced the echoing stones like some old monk whose present
world lay all within its walls. As I looked afar up into the lofty
dome, I could not help wondering what were his reflections whose
genius reared that mighty pile, when, the last small wedge of
timber fixed, the last nail driven into its home for many
centuries, the clang of hammers, and the hum of busy voices gone,
and the Great Silence whole years of noise had helped to make,
reigning undisturbed around, he mused, as I did now, upon his work,
and lost himself amid its vast extent.
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