Of the three cathedrals in London, Westminster Abbey may be said to possess the greatest charms. Compared to it St. Paul's is a new church, whilst St. Saviour's, Southwark, is little known. It is true that the foundation of St. Paul's is coeval with that of the Abbey, and St. Saviour's is an old church, but St. Paul's dates from the Great Fire of London, and the merit of its architecture is the wonderful genius of Wren. In more ways than one Westminster is bound up with the history of the great empire. Within her precincts repose the greater number of reigning heads who inaugurated their reigns in the sacred interior with the coronation, a ceremony which was last performed when our present king came to the throne, though the last monarch to be laid to rest in the venerable pile ceased with the interment of King George II. in 1760. The Abbey is also the favourite sepulture for eminent statesmen, poets, authors, and great travellers,--men whose intellects have done far more for the wonderful rise of Great Britain than the average crowned head, men whose ability and personality in many cases were little understood during life, preyed upon, as is often the case, by others who could turn it to good pecuniary account. But when death claims them, the nation, sensible of their loss, pay homage by interring the remains in the noble sepulchre of a cathedral, or perpetuate the memory by an epitaph on the wall. To wander around the Poets' Corner along the echoing aisles, and stand in front of each memorial and read off the few cold lines that seem a mockery to regard as a record of some mighty intellect, serve only to awaken the imagination and to recall their sad biographies read at one time or another. Were Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, Dryden, Milton, Oliver Goldsmith, Handel, Thackeray, David Garrick, to mention only a few, ever made peers, much less knights? No; yet many of their contemporaries of inferior intellect enjoyed such worldly distinction. To stand in the presence of the great dead, or in lieu to read their epitaphs, casts a great fascination over the mind, and makes one linger within the precincts of the historic abbey till a rude awakening comes from the verger that it is closing-time. With a sigh we emerge from the great mausoleum into the hard, glaring daylight, for a few seconds dazed. The fascination still clings to us, and when we get home we are eager to consult authorities and learn more of the beautiful church at Westminster.