g day for the
Peace of Ryswick--the treaty which humbled France, and seated William
firmly and permanently on the English throne. The king, much against his
will, was persuaded to stay at home by his courtiers, who dreaded armed
Jacobites among the 300,000 people who would throng the streets. Worthy
Bishop Compton, who, dressed as a trooper, had guarded the Princess Anne
in her flight from her father, preached that inspiring day on the text,
"I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the
Lord." From then till now the daily voice of prayer and praise has never
ceased in St. Paul's.

Queen Anne, during her eventful reign, went seven times to St. Paul's in
solemn procession, to commemorate victories over France or Spain. The
first of these (1702) was a jubilee for Marlborough's triumph in the Low
Countries, and Rooke's destruction of the Spanish fleet at Vigo. The
Queen sat on a raised and canopied throne; the Duke of Marlborough, as
Groom of the Stole, on a stool behind her. The Lords and Commons, who
had arrived in procession, were arranged in the choir. The brave old
Whig Bishop of Exeter, Sir Jonathan Trelawney ("and shall Trelawney
die?"), preached the sermon. Guns at the Tower, on the river, and in St.
James's Park, fired off the Te Deum, and when the Queen started and
returned. In 1704, the victory of Blenheim was celebrated; in 1705, the
forcing of the French lines at Tirlemont; in 1706, the battle of
Ramillies and Lord Peterborough's successes in Spain; in 1707, more
triumphs; in 1708, the battle of Oudenarde; and last of all, in 1713,
the Peace of Utrecht, when the Queen was unable to attend. On this last
day the charity children of London (4,000 in number) first attended
outside the church.

St. Paul's was already, to all intents and purposes, completed. The dome
was ringed with its golden gallery, and crowned with its glittering
cross. In 1710, Wren's son and the body of Freemasons had laid the
highest stone of the lantern of the cupola, and now commenced the
bitterest mortifications of Wren's life. The commissioners had dwindled
down to Dean Godolphin and six or seven civilians from Doctors' Commons.
Wren's old friends were dead. His foes compelled him to pile the organ
on the screen, though he had intended it to be under the north-east arch
of the choir, where it now is. Wren wished to use mosaic for internal
decoration; they pronounced it too costly, and they took the painting of
the c