A VISIT TO THE

TOMBS OF WELLINGTON AND NELSON.

My visits to the City are "few and far between," yet I seldom tread the old familiar streets without turning aside into St. Paul's-churchyard, partly for another glance at Wren's masterwork, but especially to descend to the crypt, being a great deal addicted to hero-worship at such tombs. as those of Wellington and Nelson. It was well done to open these solemn chambers to the public. It must always generate a wholesome feeling, even in the minds most given to worldly vanities, to pass a few minutes with the dead-particularly when, as here, the treasured dust is that of our greatest public men. Even when there is a crowd-not uncommon now-the crypt is hushed and still; a peculiarly impressive silence broods over this last home of the Iron Duke and the illustrious Admiral. During a recent visit, some downright roughs-an old sailor and several maimed soldiers-were present; and it was an affecting thing to notice that the moment they came near either sarcophagus, every hat and cap was reverently removed. The sailor evinced deep interest in the honours of the mighty sea-captain, and deliberately polishing his spectacles, painfully spelt through every letter of the inscription; while the ancient soldiers, crowding round

the massive granite coffin of the Duke, seemed to grow taller while enjoying the symbols of his glory. Dimness and indistinctness are fitting adjuncts of the sepulchre; the light should not be glaring; a kind of half veil should hover around us, and admit of only confused perceptions till the objects grow plain from examination. Nothing could have been better arranged than the modern tomb: gaudiness and glitter are wholly shut out; all is so substantial, that it may endure for centuries without the slightest approach of decay; even the gas jets from the granite candelabra remind us of the ever-burning lights in old-world catacombs-clear and bright, but steady; the flame varies not, the solemn brilliancy seems incapable of change. Not many feet from this grand monument, the remains of Wellington's old comrade, General Picton, have recently been interred. Some fifty years since that gallant warrior was accused of an act of cruelty to a slave in the West India island of which he was the governor. The clamour was great-the popular indignation extreme. There is now good reason to believe that the charge was erroneous. The bitterness of his opponents gradually subsided, and his glorious death on the field of honour justly entitles him to the gratitude of his country. His remains rested for many years in an obscure grave; it was only just to transfer them to this national temple, and deposit them at the feet of his leader.

We cannot praise the miserable economy which has left Nelson's sarcophagus almost in the dark. A single and very inappropriate lamp is the sole indicator of the spot. The visitor must grope his way to it, and is forced to guess at rather than read the inscription. Surely gas is not so costly as to deter the authorities from paying as much respect to the Admiral as the Field-Marshal. If the victory of Waterloo was decisive and wonderful, was that at Trafalgar less so?

On the off-days the public pay

sixpence each for admission to the crypt. John Bull would rather constantly pay his penny, than leave the ashes of his naval pet without a decent supply of light. The inscriptions on these monuments are in excellent taste. Great men ordinarily sleep on their marble beds under an absolute cloud of fulsome eulogium; nor is the bombast of praise always expressed in our vernacular tongue-such poor flattery is often set forth in the dead languages, and according to Addison is not understood above once in a twelvemonth; but the simple words, "Horatio, Viscount Nelson," "Arthur, Duke of Wellington," comprehended and appreciated by all, carry in them history enough for every Englishman. At the Exchange, and in Cheapside, the names "Wellington,' ," "Peel," are quite sufficient for fame, and in them naked suggestiveness becomes sublime. When Nelson left our shores on his last expedition, he was heard to say, "Victory or Westminster Abbey ;" and an illustrious writer, not long departed, declared that he thought six feet of earth within its hallowed precincts was the noblest reward of genius and patriotism. Yet, is it not a still higher distinction, in the case of Wellington and Nelson, to have made the vast Cathedral their restingplace, and to people with undying memories a building scarcely second to the mighty pile erected by Michael Angelo? True, Reynolds, Lawrence, Fuseli, were buried here, and all lovers of art know how to honour them. But of what do the millions of London think in connexion with St. Paul's crypt, but Wellington and Nelson? Ascending to the area of the Cathedral, I found the workmen busy in removing the hoarding from a fine marble statue of Sir Charles Napier. The critics say it is but a copy of that in bronze at Charing Cross; if so, the material employed has made a strange difference. The hero in metal seems a failure, equally deficient in expression and individuality, while the marble duplicate is commendable as a likeness

grand and impressive! How lamentable it is that there should be so much marble here, and so little sculpture! The statues of Astley Cooper, Dr. Babington, and some half-dozen others, do honour to the eminent men they represent; but the monumental groups, with the exception of those commemorative of Abercromby, Cornwallis, and Nelson, are really disgraceful specimens of art poverty. The few good ones too, including a bishop in his robes, are so obscured by dirt and dust that the merit they really possess is difficult to detect. Could not the Dean and Chapter appoint a stone-cleaner or two, and show their faith in the proverb that "Cleanliness is next to godliness"?

Much has been said lately about the gilding of the dome; and what has been done is certainly an improvement, and, we trust, should only be viewed as an instalment of what be looked for. The removal of the organ opens more may fully the grand proportions of the building, and every approximation to the original plan is a benefit; but the general aspect of the building gives a painful idea of carelessness and neglect. We have not too many noble buildings, and therefore ought to be more careful of those we possess. The resumption of the special services is highly honourable to all parties concerned. The crowds who assemble every succeeding Sunday, and the interest they excite, are strong evidences of their utility; while the spectacle presented when the Cathedral is seen by artificial light should be seen to be understood. Neither readers nor preachers can be perfectly heard throughout the vast area; but when Dean Milman, in the surpassing freshness of his great age, ascends the lectory, every word is audible; while the Bishop of Oxford combines with smooth, flowing, impressive eloquence a distinctness of utterance which permeates the whole building, and reaches every hearer.