Our First Experience With Guides Was At Westminster Abbey.
As it
happened, this guide was one of the Mark Twain survivors.
I think,
though, he was genuine; he had documents of apparent authenticity
in his possession to help him in proving up his title. Anyhow, he
knew his trade. He led us up and down those parts of the Abbey
which are free to the general public and brought us finally to a
wicket gate, opening on the royal chapels, which was as far as he
could go. There he turned us over to a severe-looking dignitary
in robes - an archbishop, I judged, or possibly only a canon - who,
on payment by us of a shilling a head, escorted our party through
the remaining inclosures, showing us the tombs of England's queens
and kings, or a good many of them anyway; and the Black Prince's
helmet and breastplate; and the exquisite chapel of Henry the
Seventh, and the ancient chair on which all the kings sat for their
coronations, with the famous Scotch Stone of Scone under it.
The chair itself was not particularly impressive. It was not
nearly so rickety and decrepit as the chairs one sees in almost
any London barber shop. Nor was my emotion particularly excited
by the stone. I would engage to get a better-looking one out of
the handiest rock quarry inside of twenty minutes. This stone
should not be confused with the ordinary scones, which also come
from Scotland and which are by some regarded as edible.
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