whispering gallery, which is made around the base of the dome
inside. The faintest whisper is heard at the point opposite that
whence it comes. Then we went outside, and walked some time around
the dome, gazing about with great delight. Then we ascended to the
Golden Gallery, as it is called from the fact that the balustrade is
gilded. It runs around the top of the dome. From here, you see
London all spread out like a map before you,--its towers, its
spires, all its multitudinous abodes, lie beneath your eye. One
little thing remained. The ball was yet above us. The gentlemen of
our party went up various perpendicular ladders, and at last pulled
themselves through a small hole into the ball. There is room, I
think, there for a dozen people, if well packed, not to stand, walk,
or sit, however; these things the nature of the place forbids. It is
a strange feeling, they say, to crouch in this little apartment and
hear the wind roaring and shaking the golden cross above. The whole
ball shakes somewhat, and by a sudden movement one can produce quite
a perceptible motion.

We descended the infinity of stairs, and entered the crypt, as it is
called, under the church. There were many grand tombs there.
Nelson's occupies the centre, and is a fine work. But what impressed
me most was the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren himself; a simple
tablet marks his tomb, with this inscription, which is repeated
above in the nave:--

Subtus conditur
Hujus Ecclesias et Urbis Conditor,
CHRISTOPHERUS WREN;
Qui vixit annos ultra nonaginta,
Non sibi, sed bono publico.