St. Paul’s does not offer so much farcical entertainment as the Abbey in fantastic memorials; but the figures displayed have an unvarying tameness and platitude. Few would recognize Dr. Johnson in the undraped man with the head bent down, the work of Bacon, and which is reared at the corner of the choir. Here we find a number of ponderous generals and commanders, not one of whom shows the spirit displayed by the effigies at Westminster. Still there are some of interest, one or two of Flaxman’s, such as that of Howard: the Napiers, however, are dreadful. All the modern work is rather indifferent; witness the black doors to the sham tomb, flanked by two “lumpy” figures. Worst of all are the amateurish relievos let into apsidal spaces in the aisles, in memory of regiments. The iron gates to the choir aisles are really fine pieces of work, solid and yet airy in treatment. The treatment of the choir, under modern rearrangements, has had the effect of narrowing it to an extraordinary degree. The organ, divided in two and perched aloft at each side, has helped this effect, and the stalls encroach too much. It is forgotten now that the arched screen gallery placed at one of the doors stood across the entrance to the choir with the organ at the top, the fine commemorative inscriptions to Wren below, “Si monumentum requiris, circumspice.”[12] The wonderful solid railings round the Cathedral are the admiration of the ironfounder. It has been noted that those of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields appear to have come from the same foundry. Like everything connected with the great Cathedral they have a little history. They cost, to begin with, nearly £10,000. They are of a fine colossal pattern, to show, as it were, that their service is worthy of the church they protect. If we would contrast with them specimens of poor workmanship, we shall find them at the Law Courts, which are fenced round with fragile and pretentious railings, which look as if a strong arm could pull them down in a few moments. Of the St. Paul’s railings an art-writer has said truly: “These celebrated railings are examples of that old art of working in iron which once flourished in England and died out almost suddenly. Their history is singular. When the Cathedral was completed tenders were invited for supplying the ironwork, and it was found that one of the tenders sent in was so much lower than all the others that it was at once accepted. The rails were duly delivered, and proved to be of cast iron. The specifications had, by accident, never mentioned hammered or wrought iron, and all the other conditions prescribed had been fulfilled. So the railings had to be accepted; and they are to-day almost as perfect as when they were first put up. The casting certainly was of the finest description. Hammered iron would have shown corrosion long ago; but the skin to some extent protected the surface. In the cast-iron cannon of early date the skin was invariably