The Life of Sir Rowland Hill and the

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LIFE OF SIR ROWLAND HILL.
till we were close on the Abbey. There we heard the
great bell tolling over head. I had heard it last when
it tolled for Macaulay. There a great crowd was
gathered, very quiet and very orderly.
It was not till
the carriage turned into Dean's Yard, that I first felt in
all its force what it was that we had come to see and
do. The band of the Post Office Volunteers was
playing the Portuguese Hymn. The men,
all in
black, were drawn up on each side of the roadway
with their arms reversed, and their faces resting on
the stocks of their rifles. The notes of the band at
once woke up the tenderest and most solemn feelings.
The tears started into my eyes. On getting out of
the carriage I saw, for the first time, the coffin with
its beautiful shroud covered with wreaths of flowers.
We marched through the cloisters with the sad music
of the soldiers still in our ears. As we turned round
a corner we saw the door into the Abbey open before
us. ... Here we caught the notes of the organ.
Wonderful feelings swept through me the ancient
cloisters, the Abbey with its thousand memories, the
dead man borne before us, we following after him
who had known him and revered him, the sight of
his two aged brothers waiting in front to fall in with
the other mourners, the priest in his white surplice.
I remember how here it burst upon me how noble and
how is glorious the thought that man has made to
himself of his own immortality. . . . We
the Abbey, and slowly moved along.
entered
If only a man
could keep at their height the lofty thoughts that filled
him in such a scene, who might not hope to find his
last resting-place there ? But, alas, the swell will
soon sink. As I passed up I heard my name mentioned
I know not by whom. I recognised also an
old servant of our family. I mention this to show