It is quite easy to find your way to St. Paul's Cathedral, for the
splendid dome of the great church springs high above the highest roof
of the City, and the gilt cross on its dome glitters in the sun 400
feet above the pavement below.
It is not a very old building, for it was raised after the Great Fire
of 1666, the fire which laid the City in ruins and destroyed the old
cathedral. It was built by a great architect, Sir Christopher Wren.
He lies buried in the cathedral, and over his tomb is a Latin
inscription which means, "If thou dost seek my monument, look around
thee."
You see the meaning of this and look around, and acknowledge that the
noble church is indeed a splendid testimony to the skill of him who
built it. As you walk round the place, you find many other monuments
to famous men. Nelson lies here and Wellington, our greatest sailor
and our greatest soldier, and Dr. Johnson, the famous scholar. Here
and there are battle-flags, the colours of famous regiments, decking
the walls. Torn by shot and stained with blood, they speak of fierce
battles where the men who bore them were in the thickest of the fight,
but now they hang in the silence of the great cathedral, mute witnesses
of Britain's greatest victories.
[Illustration: LONDON ST. PAUL'S AND LUDGATE HILL]
The most striking part of the building is the great dome, which springs
so high into the air that, viewed from beneath, its top looks far off,
and dusky, and dim. You may climb it by a flight of many, many steps,
and walk round it inside by means of a great gallery. This is called
the Whispering Gallery, for if you stand at one side of it and whisper
softly, the murmur runs round the walls and will reach someone standing
on the opposite side, a long distance off!
Next, you may go on up and up until you reach the top of the dome and
look out far and wide over London, with the river winding through the
huge maze of streets and houses, and the whole spread out at your feet
as a bird sees a place on the wing. It is a wonderful sight on a clear
day, and on a dull one it is hardly less striking, for the huge forest
of smoking chimneys spreads and spreads till it is lost on the horizon,
and you think that there is no end to this immense town, and that it is
stretching on and on for ever.
Well, now, from the City which way shall we strike, east or west? I
think you would soon be tired of the East End, for there is little to
see there that is pleasing or beautiful. Nearly all the people who
live in the East End are poor, and they live in long rows of mean
houses in dirty streets, where the air is close and everything is
grimy. There are parts of the East End, of course, where things are
better than this, with clean streets and nice houses, but still, there
is nothing to attract a visitor like the splendid buildings and the
beautiful parks to be seen at the West End of town.
When we speak of parks that brings at once to the mind the thought of
Hyde Park, finest of all London's fine open spaces, so we will go to it
from St. Paul's by bus, and our way will be through some of the most
famous streets of London. A seat on top of a London bus is a capital
place from which to see the street scenes of the great city, and we
climb up and, if we are lucky, get a front seat.
Away we roll down Ludgate Hill, across an open space, and up Fleet
Street, where it seems that every newspaper in the world must have an
office, so thickly are the walls covered by the names of all the
well-known papers. Soon we see a monument erected in the roadway. It
marks the site of Temple Bar, an old gateway which formed the City
boundary to the west. Above the old gateway was a row of spikes, and
on these the heads of rebels and traitors used to be displayed.
As soon as we pass Temple Bar we are in the Strand, that mighty London
thoroughfare. Its name reminds us that it runs along the river bank,
though to-day great buildings hide the river save for peeps down
side-streets. At one time the south side of the Strand was lined with
the mansions of great noblemen, whose gardens ran down to the water's
edge, and the side-streets yet bear the names of the great houses which
stood in the neighbourhood.
To our right as we leave Temple Bar rises the splendid pile of the new
Law Courts, and on we go between close-packed lines of shops and
theatres until we come out into Trafalgar Square, the central point of
London. Here is a great open space where fountains quietly play and a
lofty column rises, the latter crowned with a statue of our sailor
hero, Nelson. At the upper end of the Square stands the National Art
Gallery, where some of the finest pictures in the world may be seen;
but we must come another day to look at them, for our bus is still
rolling westward.
We get a glimpse at Pall Mall, the region of club-land, and soon enter
Piccadilly, one of London's most beautiful and famous streets. We pass
the doors of the Royal Academy, and then a pleasant park opens to our
left, the Green Park, while on our right runs a continuous line of
mansions, shops, and clubs, until the bus pulls up at Hyde Park Corner,
and we have reached the great park.
On a fine summer day Hyde Park offers one of the most wonderful scenes
in London. A constant stream of splendid carriages, drawn by
magnificent horses, pours into the park and moves round and round the
Drive and "The Row," with its riders, is even more interesting.
Rotten Row is a long, broad, tan-covered ride, where horsemen and
horsewomen trot and canter to and fro. Finer horses and riders are not
to be found. On a morning when the Row is fairly full, it is
delightful to spend an hour or so, seated on one of the green chairs in
shade of an elm or lime, watching the riders. Here comes an old
gentleman on a stout cob. They pound steadily past, and now three or
four young people mounted on tall, lively horses dash past at a gallop,
chatting merrily as they go, and then there is a swift scurry of
ponies, as some children dart along, racing each other up to the
Corner, where all turn and come back.
Perhaps in an afternoon you may go in through the great gates at Hyde
Park Corner and find the carriages drawn up in lines, and a feeling of
excitement and expectation in the air. A clear track is being kept.
For whom? For the Queen. She is coming up now from Buckingham Palace
to drive in the Park. Suddenly there is a brilliant flash of colour as
servants in royal liveries of glowing scarlet come into sight. Hats
fly off as the royal carriage passes, drawn by splendid chestnuts, and
there is the Queen, bowing and smiling at the people who greet her as
she drives into the Park.