my thoughts and dreams, and had often wished that I might really walk
through its quiet aisles and chapels, when, at last, I should make a
trip to Europe. And my wish was granted.

It was on a November morning--one of those dark, gloomy mornings,
peculiar to London, that I started from my lodgings to walk to the
Abbey. As I said before, I had often been there in my imagination, and,
as I walked slowly along, I could hardly realize that I was actually
about to visit it in person. After a while I came in sight of
Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament, and then, on my right,
I noticed two tall towers, and without the help of my guide-book I knew
that they must belong to the Abbey; so I quickened my steps until I
had gained the entrance door. What a change I experienced as I stepped
from the busy, crowded streets, into this old sepulcher, so celebrated
for its relics of the dead! It almost made me shudder, for the interior
of the building was dark and gloomy, and I saw many cold, white figures
towering high above me. The original Abbey was built many, many years
ago, and has been restored from time to time by the succeeding kings
and queens of England, until we find it in its present condition, safe
and sound, and one of the greatest, if not the greatest object of
interest in the city of London.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.]

[Illustration: SHRINE OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.]

Westminster Abbey may certainly be called a tomb, for we could spend a
whole day in simply counting its monuments. There were so many of these
that I hardly knew which to look at first, but I thought it best to
follow my own inclinations, and so, instead of procuring a guide (men