We saw the grand malachite vase, presented to Victoria by
the Emperor of Russia, large enough to hold one or two men. After
seeing the rooms, we ascended the tower, whence is a fine view. We
then walked on the terrace, and went to join the rest of our party,
who had gone before us to the hotel.
We then went to get a look at the famous Eton school, about a mile
distant. The Eton boys amused me much. They go there very young, and
remain there a long while, till they are ready to enter the
universities. Their dress indicates their advancement in age and
standing. First comes a jacket, then a little suspicion of a tail,
which gradually lengthens and widens as maturity comes on, till, at
last, it is a perfect tail coat. I saw specimens in these various
stages of growth.
After one of the happiest weeks that ever mortals passed, I said a
reluctant farewell, and departed for London, where more kind
friends, whom I had never seen, were expecting my arrival. I can
now, in my mind's eye, see all the dear family on the steps or in
the hall door, giving us their parting blessing, and the old
comfortable-looking gentlemanly butler arranging my luggage. One of
the dear family accompanied me to the railroad, and saw me fairly on
my way to London.
In London we again enjoyed the great pleasure of being received like
old friends, not heard there truly divine music. There is no
describing and no forgetting the effect of one of those sublime
religious strains that seem to burst forth from you know not where,
and swell and grow fuller and louder, and then more and more
distant, and fainter and fainter, till you think it dying in the
distance, and then gush out with an overwhelming fulness of harmony
and beauty. One feels as if he would hear such strains at the hour
of death.
Our next object was St. Paul's. How different! how very different!
In a Gothic building, you think that the artist, who designed it,
had in mind the idea of the solemn forest where the crossing
branches produce all those beautiful lines and forms, which so
delight your eye, and where the dim, mysterious light awakens and
accords with the religious sentiment; but the effect of the great
dome, which suggests the open sky, is entirely opposite. The effect
upon your mind of standing in the middle of St. Paul's is very
impressive; but what moved me most was the sound of the people
without the walls. No one of our party spoke, and the noise of the
busy multitude without was like the waves of the ocean. I had heard
the voice of many waters while coming over the Atlantic, and there
is no exaggeration; it is just such a sound, such an ebbing and
flowing, and yet such a full and constant roar, as the waves make
after continued high winds. 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.
