Calvin, as he composes the Institutes in his cheerless study in Geneva. It would require more than one day to describe what was seen in the British Musuem, and many days to utter the sentiments to which that exhibition gave rise. It is a noble institution, and nobly conducted. With the usual generosity of the English, the doors are open to the public; no fee or pass is demanded; and the richest and the poorest, the citizen and the stranger, can enjoy the liberality of a powerful nation. There are various other museums and collections of curiosities in London, in examining which a stranger may occupy weeks and months, and at the end find his task incomplete. Public property and private fortunes have been expended in this way, and no one can fail to express his admiration of the scope and grandeur of this form of public instruction and recreation. Turning back from the Museum, we enter St. Paul's Church, the largest and most magnificent in the kingdom. This noble structure was designed by Sir Christopher Wren, and was commenced by him in 1673, and completed in 1715. It is built in the form of a Greek cross, and is, exteriorly and interiorly, worthy of the great city of which it marks the center. Marble statues adorn the interior, and over the whole rises a spacious dome, surmounted by a ball and cross, to which the visitor ascends by a winding staircase. From the Golden Gallery, which is just below the ball, a fine view of London is obtained. I well remember the morning on which I gazed from that high elevation upon the sea of dwellings spread out below. The grandest conception of the city is obtained from this point. As far as the eye can reach,-north, south, east, and west, the country is covered with churches, houses, and manufactories-one wide wilderness, losing itself in the misty distance. As you stand on the dome of St. Peter's, you see Rome gathered close around you a comfortable city, indeed, but not like this. Around you are the towers and tombs, the castles and palaces, while beyond, for miles, in the clear atmosphere, stretches the Roman Campagna, across which no rail car hurries, and on which hardly an object of interest or a sign of life can be seen. But from the dome of St. Paul's scarcely a green spot or an open space can be discovered. Even the streets look like little avenues, and nought but the red house tops, the gilded spires, and the smoking chimneys arise to the sight. In the crypt under the church repose some of England's most illustrious men. Beneath the center of the dome is the tomb of Nelson, his last battle fought, and his body crumbling back to dust. Near by is all that remains of the mortal Lord Collingwood. At a distance are the resting-places of Christopher Wren, Benjamin West, and other men of genius. Here they sleep, awaiting the sound of the last trumpet, which shall call them again to life. I will not attempt to give a description of the Cathedral. Its dimensions will be seen by the bare announcement that it is five hundred and ten feet long within the walls; from the floor to the center of the dome, three hundred and forty feet; the circumference of the dome within is three hundred feet-well proportioned, well built, and forming one of the objects of interest which the stranger is most anxious to behold. Daily devotions are held here, in which the English service is read, sung, chanted, or performed in the most dull and stupid manner imaginable. The monotony of the service; the indolent, careless, irreligious, and often gross and sensual look of those who engage in it; the inattention of the people; and the evident want of devotion in priest and worshippers, -resemble any thing but the worship of God. The churches of London are generally heavy, massive, uncomely structures, but will bear comparison with the churches of Boston and New York. Some few of them are associated in our minds with great events in history, and some few a stranger will visit for their architectural beauty or antique appearance. Beneath them all, or around them, the dead repose; and the walls are often disfigured by inscriptions to the memory of men long since departed and forgotten. In St. Mary Woolnorth lies the body of John Newton, a former rector. A tablet, bearing an inscription written by himself, reads as follows: "John Newtononce an infidel and libertine, a servant of slaves in Africa-was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, preserved, restored, pardoned, and appointed to preach the faith he once labored to destroy." St. Mary-le-Bow, noted for its connection with events in past times, has one of the most beautiful steeples in London, and is a fine old edifice of Wren's designing. In All-Hallows Church Milton was christened, and in St. Giles's, Cripplegate, he was buried. In this latter church-which is memorable for the marriage of Cromwell with Elizabeth Bouchier, who was, as Oliver says, "unto me a good helpmeet repose the ashes of Fox, the author of the Book of Martyrs, a work which has done much to open the eyes of Protestants to the enormities of the church of Rome. In St. Sepulcher's is an old bell which was formerly tolled at the time of the execution of criminals; and we are referred to a custom which some half century ago prevailed. The bell-ringer was accustomed to go at night to Newgate prison, and, standing under the walls, cry aloud, so as to be heard by the condemned within, "All you that in the condemned hold do lie, That you may not to eternal flames be sent ; Past twelve o'clock ! " In Christ's Church sleeps Richard Baxter, Cromwell's chaplain, and the author of Saint's Rest. In Temple Church is Oliver Goldsmith. Beneath St. Clement Danes lies Bishop Berkeley. Walter Raleigh's headless trunk is deposited in St. Margaret's, and in the various temples dedicated to God may be seen words in praise of human frailty. In the buried vaults of St. Martin-in-the-Fields lie a medley of good and evil, white spirits and gray, among whom are the remains of Jack Sheppard, who was hanged in 1723, whose history is familiar to every schoolboy, and whose deeds are now the nursery tales of England; also Nell Gwynne, ́ the story of whose misfortunes and crimes has been rehearsed in many a circle, and whose sad fate has drawn out for her many a tear of pity. The dissenting meeting-houses of London are generally poorly constructed, and destitute of all the attractions of architecture and art. I found dissenters more numerous than I supposed. There are nearly one hundred and fifty chapels for Independents, who embrace several denominations, and about seventy for Baptists — the latter including all the different shades and complexions of those who practice immersion. The churches of our own faith are peculiarly plain. I visited many of them, and of all I saw, only one would compare with our own sanctuary, for neatness and convenience. Badly formed and rudely constructed, many of them have a repulsive appearance. The people, who live in ceiled houses, and many of whom are wealthy, instead of feeling mortified and ashamed of their places of worship, glory in their plainness, as an evidence of their humility, when they have more reason to believe that it arises from pride and avarice. Leaving the churches, to some of which we shall return in a future chapter, we enter a steamer, and sail a while up and down the Thames. I have noticed a statement, recently, that a steamer passes under Waterloo Bridge every minute; and this fact will enable us to see the immense business which is done upon that little river. I had heard of the Thames as a broad, beautiful stream, and was somewhat disappointed when I first beheld it. It is narrow, being not more than nine hundred feet wide, and is continually discolored and dirty, the paddles of the steamers ever stirring up its depths. But narrow and turbid as it is, it is of great importance to London, and a source of national wealth and prosperity which could hardly be dispensed with. It is spanned by several noble bridges, such as I have seen nowhere else, and which are justly admired by all travelers. Over these bridges throngs are continually passing backward and forward-foot passengers and carriage passengers, drays and coaches, omnibuses and donkey carts, crowding the passages, and pouring into, and out of, the city in one continual flood, while beneath, "Through many an arch, the wealthy river rolls." G |