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The great charm of St. Paul's is the lofty dome, and in the planning and construction of this Wren manifested ability of the highest order. It rests upon eight huge piers, upon the arches of which rests the large cantilever cornice, around which runs the Whispering Gallery, so-called because a whisper uttered at one side of the circle is distinctly heard at the point exactly opposite. Above this gallery rises what is known as the drum, and from the upper part of this springs the inner dome of brickwork, pierced with an eye in its vertex, through which the dome terminating the great brick cone is seen. Although not suspected by the observer who looks upon it either from within or without, there are really three domes. The one which forms such a noble roof above the great interior space is simply an inner skin of brickwork, upon which the observer may stand and look down nearly three hundred feet to the floor of the cathedral. And while standing there he finds it somewhat difficult to understand how the brickwork is suspended in mid air, and to avoid the conviction that it is just about to collapse and let him fall through into the great void beneath. But reflection comes to the rescue with the assurance that what has stood for two centuries will probably last for the few minutes he is able to spend upon it.

The outer dome, the most conspicuous object in London, is but a skin of woodwork enveloping the inner cone of brickwork, which really supports the whole fabric. This enormous mass of masonry rises up at an acute angle from the top of the drum of the dome, and terminates in the tiny dome visible high up through the eye of the large inner dome. A forest of timbers placed upon the outside of this supports the outer wooden dome, and above it rise successively the lantern, the ball, and the cross. It is possible to get into the ball, but the experience is hardly worth the trouble. But everyone who wishes to appreciate Wren's constructive ability should mount as far as the Golden Gallery, that is, the small outer gallery, enclosed by gilt railings, encircling the base of the lantern. Access to this is obtained by the great circular staircase at the south-western corner of the dome. This leads up first to the Stone Gallery, whence a fair but not an unobstructed view over London can be obtained. But from the Stone Gallery the ascent is made up circular iron stairs, which wind up between the brick cone and the outer wooden shell. It is while making this part of the ascent that the mind receives the most vivid impression of the enormous scale of the building, and of the almost endless multiplicity of detail involved in it.

From the Golden Gallery a superb view of London is obtained. The whole city lies at one's feet, and on a clear day not only every part of the metropolis, but all the nearer suburbs, are well within the circle of vision. Standing there at any time during the working hours of the day, provided the day is moderately free from wind, what impresses an observer is the enormous volume of noise made by the restless, busy, surging life of the

myriads below. As you look down upon the men and women, who appear but pigmies, and the omnibuses and drays, which seem but children's toys, it is hardly possible to connect any special sound with any particular vehicle or street; but from the whole area there rises a dull continuous roar, something like the roar of a mighty furnace, the innumerable sounds produced by the endless activities of London daily life, blending into one great monotone, which impresses London's greatness as powerfully and vividly upon the sense of hearing as the incomparable panorama within the field of vision does upon the sight. Wren is reported to have said that he built for eternity.' Did he consciously, and with some prevision of London's

coming greatness, endeavour to provide a fitting outlook for subsequent generations, whence they could survey the largest and most wonderful city of the world in this Gallery, which well deserves the name of Golden, not so much from the accident of its gilding as from the unique and superb view of the City which it affords?

The old buildings of St. Paul's School, which used to stand at the eastern end of the cathedral, with their memories of Colet, of Milton, and of many a man whose life of powerful influence here received its first impulse in intellectual pursuits, have passed away. The school now resides in a handsome building at Hammersmith, while the old site is occupied by extremely modern warehouses. The Deanery yet remains, although Doctors'

Commons long since disappeared, the doctors selling their property and dividing the proceeds. Adjoining the Deanery is the school for the choristers, built by Dean Church in 1874.

We have given considerable space to St. Paul's because it is the great metropolitan cathedral, and because its associations with the civic life of London have been more continuous and direct than those of Westminster Abbey. But it is now time, ere we inspect somewhat hastily a few of the other noted and interesting ecclesiastical centres of London, to pay a visit to the great church of St. Peter, in many respects the most interesting and impressive building in England. Rich to profusion in examples of the best styles of church architecture, it has also been associated with the English royal family since the days of Edward the Confessor. Within those walls, the youngest of which have stood for nearly four centuries, are the tombs and memorials of a multitude of famous kings, queens, princes, statesmen, warriors, ecclesiastics, men of letters, and philanthropists; enshrined in noble and varied architecture are whole centuries of English history. Specimens of the Norman work of Edward the Confessor are still to be seen in the crypt of the chapter-house, and in the arches that prolong the eastern walk of the cloister; but the great church, as we see it to-day, received its character from Henry the Third's workmen, and is due to the building tastes of that monarch. He ruthlessly swept away most of the Confessor's building, honoured that monarch by placing his body, enclosed in a gorgeous shrine, upon a mound of sacred earth, and then constructed over it the building that grows more and more potent in its charm over the imagination as the successive centuries pass by. It never has been a cathedral. Edward endowed the monastery of which his structure was the great church. He built the church as his own tomb; here he was buried; here William the Norman, claiming the crown of England as a gift from Edward, after his victory at Senlac, was himself crowned; and here, since his day, every English ruling sovereign has undergone the coronation ceremonies.

Henry III., in 1220, began a Lady Chapel, which was afterwards destroyed to make room for Henry the Seventh's, and in 1245 he began the church. He completed the choir, transepts, central tower, and one bay of the nave, together with the chapter-house and part of the cloisters. Edward I. carried on the work of his father, and successive monarchs contributed to the great undertaking, but the church was not finished by the completion of the western towers until 1740. The complete building consists of nave, choir, and transepts, entirely surrounded by aisles, except at the western extremity of the south transept, the aisle here being taken up by part of the cloister. There is no great east window, but the lines. and arches converge beautifully, and give rich vistas that delight the eye. At the eastern end of Edward the Confessor's Chapel is the beautiful chantry of Henry V., and at the eastern end of the church is the magnificent