CHAPTER XI. LONDON'S VASTNESS, ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, ETC. FIFTEEN MILES THROUGH MIGHTY BUILDINGS-ASKING FOR BREAD ON STONE BEDS-ST. PAUL'S MARVELOUS CATHEDRAL; IT WHISPERS-MARBLE HORSES KNEEL DOWN WITH SHERIFFS WHILE SAUL OF TARSUS ASKS A QUESTION-ANGELS, WOMEN AND WARRIORS, IN POLISHED MARBLE AND BRONZE, GLORIFYING DEAD HEROES TRAVELING WITHOUT LOSS A PURSE THRUST INTO A STRANGER'S BOSOM-A DIGRESSION HOSPITAL FRAGMENTS ANOTHER DIGRESSION I have already written two letters from London, but I have scarcely made a beginning on the great city, or “ big village," as many call it. So, notwithstanding I have visited the large cities of England, France, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, I cannot refrain from writing again under this head. It is difficult to get the reader to form his ideas large enough when thinking of this vast city. Let us begin in the green fields, just out of the city, and walk through the great town. Here are fields of wheat with shocks of eight or ten sheaves, standing very thick; there are meadows full of fat cattle and sheep. I think if David, the mighty warrior and immortal poet, had been an Englishman he would have written, "The cattle upon a thousand plains and the sheep on a myriad hills are His." Handsome mansions stand on beautiful eminences, surrounded by fine trees and brilliant and fragrant flowers; gardens arranged in symbols and letters that speak the praises of the King celestial and the queen terrestrial. Now, we come to long rows of neat, new tenement houses, for London builds thirty thousand houses a year. Now, we go on and come to substantial business blocks and the streets begin to teem with tram-cars, 'busses, cabs, drays and people. We pass on by stately mansions, palaces and extensive parks; on by temples, towers, cathedral domes, castles, monuments, fountains and great buildings of state, and arrive at the Thames Embankment. Now the heavens are smoky and the sun looks a dull red, for we are many miles from the green, fresh country. Here is the river Thames crowded with steamboats and business. Let us cross Waterloo bridge, a bridge apparently as solid as old Earth herself. We pass on for miles through streets so crowded that you wait at corners for a chance to cross. All kinds of business is going on in the streets and in great granite markets, and some beggars ask for money and others try to claim your attention with a box of matches, and bootblacks say: "Shine your boots, sir; only a penny?" We pass Ludgate circus, Holborn viaduct, the post-office, Smithfield meat and fish markets, St. Paul's vast dome, go on by Bunhill fields, where Bun yan, Wesley, Clarke and others are buried, and so on into localities which for hundreds of years have been the abode of poverty, misery, crime and unrest. The pavements, doorsteps, and worn, dusty hallways seem to reek with tears and blood violently shed, and the cracks, creases and wrinkles on pavestones, bricks and doorways seem to speak weird, ruffian and piteous languages. Going on, we pass great railway stations with columns, gates, clock-towers and broad arched roofs of glass on ribs of iron; on by stores and mansions, and having made a trip of say fifteen miles, we again came into the God-made country among groves of trees, gardens of flowers and vegetables, and fields of grass, grain, sheep, cattle and brick kilns. I thought it was somewhat strange that on the steps of the monuments reared to commemorate the great deeds of great men, for instance, in Trafalgar Square, London, and in Dublin's wide street, Sackville, I saw so many idle men. I thought that a poor way to gain a monument. My cousin in Trafalgar said: "These men are out of work and they sleep here all night." Oh, yes; I see. They ask for bread and receive a stone. We cannot say that many men are built for monuments. Monuments are built for men who at their birth receive a genius, a spirit of unquenchable, undying determination to do or to be something. They say, "Let this blood drip out, let these bones. crack, let this body decay, but let this idea, this brave, eternal genius, live and shine." So they smile at labor and pain and face death in mines and markets, studies, studios and garrets, and sail through great billows, and wave bright swords over bloody and screaming battle-fields, where angels and demons invisible look on with tears and amazement as mortal spirits burst away from mangled bodies. The monuments to soldiers are tall and beautiful, but the monuments to philanthropists, patriots, artists, martyrs and saviors are lovely and ennobling. I said to my cousin, "If England ever becomes bankrupt, she may sell her works of art, her palaces, and her relics, and her things of great beauty, value, and antiquity, and pay off her debts." The task of telling about all these grand and beautiful things is so great that I am slow to begin it. I stopped at the Central post-office and I found it to be comprised in two great granite buildings, one each side of the street; one 375 feet long and two stories high, the other 300 feet long and five stories high. A man said, "They have recently added a story to that building which made room for over five hundred more clerks." They are preparing to build a larger and grander building. A report states that in one year there were 238,000,000 letters delivered from the post-office to the people of London. Now I am at St. Paul's Cathedral, perhaps the most impressive edifice I have yet seen. I walk into the beautiful church-yard grounds and look at ancient tombs and see the fine display of shrubbery and flowers. I paced around the building and counted five hundred and thirty-three paces; more than a fourth of a mile! The flowers, all colors, sweet vegetable angels, grow in crosses to honor the place, while their patriotic hearts spell out the words: "V. R. 1837, God save our Queen, 1887." In the gable over the the great portico is a representation of "Saul's Conversion." It is a grand sight to see men, and horses, and soldiers, in hard marble, fall prostrate in the presence of the supernatural light and voice. This massive church, one of the largest in the world, is crowned by one of the largest and most wonderful domes. on earth, and is surrounded by a great, gilded cross. The structure is said to be three hundred and sixtyfive feet high, and its great dome is seen towering aloft for miles around when the atmosphere is favorable. Entering the church the spectator is almost awed by the magnitude and grandeur of the place. A forest of columns and arches uphold the lofty roof and dome, and as you walk the marble floor, light falls through many windows of stained glass like angels on errands of peace. Oh, what a labyrinth of rich and rare monuments stand around in marble and bronze to the honor of great soldiers, statesmen, divines, philanthropists, and artists. Those to Wellington, Nelson and General Gordon appear the grandest. England is remarkable for honoring her great soldiers. "Great murderers!" one man said. Here angels, and men, and children, and gods, and goddesses, and nymphs cluster in marble at the feet of the great ones to do them honor, while lovely women in pure white marble, draped in thin lace, stand about these departed heroes as if fain to warm them into life once more. Coming to a most kind and handsome face, cut in marble, I paused to see whom it represented, and read |