My next visit was an ambitious one. I spent an hour, or so, in climbing to the ball of St. Paul’s, within which, of course, I ensconsed myself, and indulged in very sublime reflections. The fact is, however, that it was very hot, and when some half dozen cockneys had wedged themselves in, after me, I verily thought the chances lay between smothering and being toppled down in a lump into the street (400 feet below) like a big pippin; for the ball shook and trembled upon the rods which support it, in a manner by no means soothing to excitable nerves. I was glad when I got safely back to the “Golden Gallery,” and could cool myself, and look down on the roofs and chimneys of the million at one glance. Here is your true view of London! Here that “mighty heart” is seen, and felt, and heard in its throbbings. Here a thoughtful man finds food for reflection, and a benevolent one for interceding prayer. Oh, God! to think of the life and death, the joy and misery, the innocence and the guilt, and all the mixed and mingled passions, emotions, thoughts, and deeds which are going on beneath these roofs, along those labyrinthine streets, and alleys, and in all this circuit of miles and miles, and close-packed human beings! God alone understands the issues there deciding: it is too much for one to dwell upon a single moment; but, thank God for the assurance that “He remembereth that we are but dust:” yea, thank God, for a Saviour and an High Priest, who can be touched with the feeling of human infirmities!