THE SAVOY.
But we now come to a gem of its kind—one of the antiquarian treasures of London—yet little known and little visited. In one of the streets leading out of Holborn Circus—at the threshold of the City, of banks and mercantile business—we find a retired street, or cul de sac, of modest old-fashioned houses, which are approached through a carefully guarded gate. This is Ely Place, and here, a little way down on the left, is to be found this rare cynosure. It is interesting in every view—from its historical associations, the strange vicissitudes through which it has passed, its narrow escapes from destruction or conversion to profane uses, and its precious and native grace. The old houses of the street have a sleepy air, which is in keeping, and no clatter of carts or carriages disturbs the solitude. The place is given over to commission agents, native and foreign, while the celebrated firm of solicitors, “Lewis and Lewis,” together with the graceful chapel, divide the attractions of the street.
The chapel stands back from the roadway, from which is a descent of steps which leads to the level of the lower chapel or crypt. For here is the singular interest of the building; there are two chapels, one under the other, and apparently of equal pretension. Entering, we find ourselves in gloom, Cimmerian almost, in a long, low crypt, with lights glimmering at the far end. The ceiling still shows the original, roughly-hewn beams, like the timber framing in the hold of a vessel, while down the middle a row of eight short, blunted columns supports it, from each of which the supporting timbers radiate, fan-like. The lancet windows at the side are remarkable as revealing the enormous thickness—it seems about twelve feet in depth—of
S. Etheldreda’s Church.