It Was Truly Sublime, This Concentrated Sound Of This Living Multitude Of Human Beings, These Breathings And Heavings Of The Heart Of The Mighty Monster, London.

We were shown all over the cathedral; we first ascended to the inside gallery, and walked around, looking down upon the whole interior; we then visited the clock, and we heard and felt the quiver of its tremendous voice.

We next entered the famous whispering gallery, which is made around the base of the dome inside. The faintest whisper is heard at the point opposite that whence it comes. Then we went outside, and walked some time around the dome, gazing about with great delight. Then we ascended to the Golden Gallery, as it is called from the fact that the balustrade is gilded. It runs around the top of the dome. From here, you see London all spread out like a map before you, - its towers, its spires, all its multitudinous abodes, lie beneath your eye. One little thing remained. The ball was yet above us. The gentlemen of our party went up various perpendicular ladders, and at last pulled themselves through a small hole into the ball. There is room, I think, there for a dozen people, if well packed, not to stand, walk, or sit, however; these things the nature of the place forbids. It is a strange feeling, they say, to crouch in this little apartment and hear the wind roaring and shaking the golden cross above. The whole ball shakes somewhat, and by a sudden movement one can produce quite a perceptible motion.

We descended the infinity of stairs, and entered the crypt, as it is called, under the church. There were many grand tombs there. Nelson's occupies the centre, and is a fine work. But what impressed me most was the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren himself; a simple tablet marks his tomb, with this inscription, which is repeated above in the nave: -

Subtus conditur Hujus Ecclesias et Urbis Conditor, CHRISTOPHERUS WREN; Qui vixit annos ultra nonaginta, Non sibi, sed bono publico. Lector, si monumentum requiris, Circumspice. Obiit 25 Feb. MDCCXXIII., aetat. XCI.

We subjoin a translation of this inscription for our young friends: -

"Underneath lies buried Christopher Wren, the builder of this church and city; who lived beyond the age of ninety years, not for himself, but for the public good. - Reader, if you ask for his monument, look around you. - He died on the 25th of February, 1723, aged 91."

He is called the builder of the city, as well as of the church; for Sir Christopher Wren was the architect of more than fifty of the churches in London.

One morning, our friend, Miss S., was kind enough to accompany us to Greenwich, where, you know, is the Hospital for disabled sailors of the British navy. The day was warm and lovely, like what we call the Indian summer in America. We took an omnibus to London Bridge; from thence we proceeded by railway, and in a few minutes were in Greenwich.

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