his sarcophagus. From 12,000 to 15,000 persons
were present. The impressive funeral procession, with the
representatives of the various regiments, and the solemn bursts of the
"Dead March of Saul" at measured intervals, can never be forgotten by
those who were present. The pall was borne by the general officers who
had fought by the side of Wellington, and the cathedral was illuminated
for the occasion. The service was read by Dean Milman, who had been, as
we have before mentioned, a spectator of Nelson's funeral. So perfectly
adapted for sound is St. Paul's, that though the walls were muffled with
black cloth, the Dean's voice could be heard distinctly, even up in the
western gallery. The sarcophagus which holds Wellington's ashes is of
massive and imperishable Cornish porphyry, grand from its perfect
simplicity, and worthy of the man who, without gasconade or theatrical
display, trod stedfastly the path of duty.

[Illustration: THE CHOIR OF ST. PAUL'S BEFORE THE REMOVAL OF THE SCREEN,
_from an engraving published in 1754_.]

After Nelson and Wellington, the lesser names seem to dwindle down. Yet
among the great, pure, and good, we may mention, there are some Crimean
memorials. There also is the monument of Cornwallis, that good
Governor-General of India; those of the two Napiers, the historian and
the conqueror of Scinde, true knights both; that of Elphinstone, who
twice refused the dignity of Governor-General of India; and that of the
saviour of our Indian empire, Sir Henry Lawrence. Nor should we forget
the monuments of two Indian bishops--the scholarly Middleton, and the
excellent and lovable Heber. There is an unsatisfactory statue of
Turner, by Bailey; and monuments to Dr. Babington, a London physician,
and Sir Astley Cooper, the great surgeon. The ambitious monument to
Viscount Melbourne, the Queen's first prime minister, by Baron
Marochetti, stands in one of the alcoves of the nave; great gates of
black marble represent the entrance to a tomb, guarded by two angels of
white marble at the portals. More worthy than the gay Melbourne of the
honour of a monument in such a place, is the historian Hallam, a calm,
sometimes cold, but always impartial writer.

In the crypt near Wren lie many of our most celebrated English artists.
Sir Joshua Reynolds died in 1792. His pall was borne by peers, and
upwards of a hundred carriages followed his hearse. Near him lies his
successor as president, West, the Quaker painter; co