Did you ever actually see anybody who had been inside St. Paul's Cathedral? I ask because I believe one or two Americ-us have been to St. Paul's, and Pd like to know if they take on airs; for if it is proper, or customary, to do so, I mean to. Every American I meet over here asks me immediately he is introduced "if I have been in St. Paul's." My constant and undeviating reply has always been Yes! The other day it occurred to me that all this lying was unnecessary; s0 I went to St. Paul's—and ever since, when the regular question has been put at me, I have answered No! St. Paul's was built by Sir Christopher Wren. It was begun ¢emp Charles LI; I don't remember if thnt party lived to see it completed, but I hope not. It took thirty-five years to build it, and it cost five millions, and seven and a-half millions, and ten millions of dollars according to who happens to be your authority. Tt stands upon thirteen acres of ground, but does not cover it all. The top of the cross is ten thousand feet above the abdomen of Nelson, who lies directly under centre of the dome, with Wellington at his heels, in a spacious and comfortable hall of the crypt. (Sir Christopher himself, a much better man than eiher, is stuck into wall at one side.) 'The bell of St. Paul' ten feet, and twelve feet, and fifteen feet in diameter. It weighs four tons, and six tons, and eight tons, It rings all the hours, but is never tolled except upon the occasion of a death in the royal family. I'd give anything to hear that bell tolled The clock is eighteen feet across the face, and every American who in is expected to wind it up a little; about one turn of the crank i+ permitted to each American. It commonly gets wound uso tight by about eleven in the morning that it stops. So it is not regarded as a trustworthy timepiece after that hour, except upon Sundays, when Americans are excluded. My wife got hold of the crank of this clock and began to ind. I took the. usher round to the other side of the machinery to have him show me the pendulum which is twenty feet, and twenty-five feet, and thirty-feet long, respeotively. I kept him there until I had extorted from him a complete inventory of the Cathedral from top to bottom. Meantime, wife did not dare to stop winding the clock, for fear the crank would ly back and hit het if she let up. So she then and there settled the business of that chronometer some three hours before the regular time; for we had gone early. [twas painful to see the look of utter disappointment and distress upon the faces of the Americans as they came up the long stairs in squads to wind the clock. I never felt so sorry for anybody in my life. One of them said he would not serve his own mother such a 'AS scun as the stairs were clear 1 gathered up my wife and sneaked away, quite ashamed of myself; but the look of peaceful triumph has never departed from that innocent's face to this day.
The first feeling upon approaching St. Paul's is one of disappointment, as in all similar cases. Ibis only when you get some miles away, and see the great dome lifting itself hreavenward in the haze from the mass of buildings which cluster about it like ant-hills, that you begin to realize its real magnitude. The farther away you get, the higher it seems to rear itself, and when the surrounding architecture is merely an indistinguishable mass of points and shadows, t1 f cupola stands against the blue, seemingly larger than ever all you look for the clouds to loot themselves against its misty sides. And so it seems to grow. until it is out of sight—for get it below the horizon you can't.
Upon entering St. Paul's you feel at first the same uncomfortable sense of disappoint-lieut; it is neither so wide nor so high as you had expected; and it is only after your eyes have somehow adjusted their Lenses to the unaccustomed distances, or perhaps your judgment been sharpened by practice ripon what the eyes report, that you begin to have any adequate conception of the immensity of of a few thousands, more or less, is of no import here. Their contiguity is not companionship; the more there are of them the more alone each tone seems. Their looks are unfamiliar; their voices startle; their footfalls wound. " They speak below their breath, and seem to be talking to themselves. It'is as if they were a part of the solitude; instead of dispelling they deepen it.
Let no one leave St. Paul's without mounting to the top. It is an arduous climb—one that no lady must think of undertaking—between the outer and the inner wall; but the compensation is full and ample. You are now directly over the centre of the dome, I don't dare to say how many feet above the floor. You lie down at fall length, and peep through a hole the size of your face. The effect is indescribable; it is as if you were les up in the air; so novel is your point of view that the judgment is utterly befooled by it, The people below you are black mites at the bottom of a blue mist; their movem-nts are scarcely perceptible; their murmur wholly unheard. It is well for you if you do not happen to think of falling; if you do, your enjoyment of this extraordinary spectacle is gone forever—at least mine was, Tentered St. Paul's in the midst of a cracking thunder storm. 'The rain was plunging down in spouts, and the lightning cut the eyeballs like a knife Some hundreds of clammy men and bedraggled women had already sought sanctuary in the church; most of them being cuddled' together under the dome, like frightened sheep; though a few kept up a show of indifference by the mo pretence of examining the execrable memorial statues of eminent boobies which deface the niches and walls. It is impossible to convey a notion of the effect of the storm, in here under the great gloomy concave. The lightning looked in through the painted windows as if the whole exterior world wem on fire, while the thunder crashed, and rang, and jarred, in continuous echoes for nearly ai jour." The peals could not be distinguished the one from another; it was one unceasis reverberation, mingled with the curious whis-of the rain outside. Down in the ors however, the storm was almost as mandil to the living as to the den I cannot close without. giving a most. exquisite little epitaph which I found out in quaint old characters upon a lady's tombstone inthisplace. Ihaveforgotten who the lady w: but whatever her name or station, she has had the finest tribute paid her that ever the dead received from the living. The lines seemed quite familiar as [read them, and doubtless many of your readers will be able to give the ame of their author; for it is impossible that should not be some well known man of letters. Such a composition, simple as it could be the result of nothing less than yea of close and conscientious intellectual culture.
Underneath this stone doth lie As much virtue aa could die Which in ies life did vigor give To.us auch beauty as could live" far beyond the point at which it is possible There the human mind, cannot get very to write lines like those. I will exchange my fame as a liar for the ability to write an epi-toph half as good—provided I am_ supplied witha corpse that is suitable and deserving.
JPupondest. we writen by Ben locsone- on ELON 1 admirable epitaph transcribed by the At' ely Sain EH he version given above that quoted Sitio in one of the Spectator paper, bute Shoal ae wares "Yadmeath this stone doth i, moh Dorey mood {Wich in Lite di Harbour gi, The modern misquotation, adopted by the corrsnoa-{ent coupletaly upoily the Giat thought of the foe, Scale? tke quale of Tire sxoutary to Dewi, who Jomon moh ride Dona mola res Sites aad Beduty ably beast Lie by beg The iintbour of Wires)
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.