very grand, but rather dark and
gloomy, even under the great central light of the dome--except when
viewed by a very clear sunshine, the rarest thing in the world in
"great London town;" for what with the smoke, the fog, and the rain,
the poor old sun has few opportunities of making himself agreeable to
the Londoners. But when he does get a chance to shine, he seems to
make the most of it, and surely nothing can be more pleasant than a
right [Transcriber's note: bright?] sunny morning in London. On such a
morning we visited St. Paul's Cathedral.

Before ascending to the dome, we wandered about for some time in the
nave and transept, examining with much interest the monuments, statues,
and tablets, erected in honor of celebrated English poets, artists,
soldiers, naval heroes, and statesmen, and seeking out the famous
epitaph of the noble architect, and the great and good man, Sir
Christopher Wren. This is in Latin, but translated, reads thus:--

"Beneath lies Christopher Wren, the architect of this church and city,
who lived more than ninety years, not for himself alone, but for the
public. Reader, do you seek his monument? look around!"

About the interior of the dome are a series of pictures, illustrating
the life of St. Paul. An incident occurred during the painting of
these which I will relate, as a remarkable instance of presence of
mind. The artist, Sir James Thornhill, painted standing on a scaffold,
erected of course at a great height from the ground. This scaffold was
securely built, but not protected by any railing. One day, while
fortunately a friend was with him watching him at his work--having just
finished the head of one of the apostles, he forgot where he was, and
with his hand over his eyes, stepped hastily backward, to see how the
picture would look from a distance. In a moment he stood on the very
edge of the platform; another step--another inch backward were certain
death! His friend dared not speak, for fear of startling him; but
catching up a large brush, he dashed it over the face of the apostle,
smearing the picture shockingly. Sir James sprang forward instantly,
crying out:

"Bless my soul! what have you done?" "_I have saved your life,_"
replied his friend, calmly. For the next moment the two stood face to
face, very pale and still, but thanking God fervently in their full,
loud-beating hearts.

Within the dome is "The Whispering Gallery." This is surely very
curious; the lea