They saw the splendid chapel of Henry the Seventh, with the beautiful tomb of that fierce paladin, conqueror of Richard Third, and founder of the sanguinary Tudor dynasty; and of his meek consort, Elizabeth of York, surnamed the Good. And there also they saw, oh strange juxtaposition! the tombs of that beautiful Mary Stuart, and of her rival and destroyer, the ruthless Elizabeth Tudor; and the tombs of many other royal and noble celebrities besides. And they examined many other chapels, filled with the monuments and memorials of kings and queens, knights and ladies, heroes and martyrs, poets and philosophers, who had adorned the history of the country and of the world, from the foundation of the Abbey to the present time. At one o’clock, before they had inspected one-tenth part of the interesting features of this venerable edifice, they took leave of Westminster Abbey, promising themselves another and a longer visit, and they went to “Simmons’” to lunch. At two o’clock they visited St. Paul’s Cathedral. Time and space would fail us here to give the slightest outline of the wonders of that most wonderful cathedral. The mere ascent of St. Paul’s from the crypt to the cupola might be, in some degree, compared to the ascent of Mont Blanc—at least in toil and fatigue, if not in danger and distance. To give the most cursory description of its marvels of architecture, sculpture, paintings and decorations, would fill volumes and be out of place here. After three or four hours spent there, our party returned to their hotel, utterly wearied, dazzled and distracted; and with only two images standing out distinctly from the magnificent chaos in their minds—the mausoleums of Lord Nelson and the Duke of Wellington, the great sailor and the great soldier of England standing side by side in the crypt of the Cathedral. “My dear,” said the General, that evening over his cup of tea, “when we laid out our plans for this week we had no idea what was before us! No wise man crowds so much sight-seeing into so little time. It is as wrong to surfeit the brain as it is to overload the stomach. As for me I am suffering from a mental indigestion, and I would rather not attempt Windsor Castle, or any other stupendous place or thing, until I have got over Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral. So what do you say to postponing all sight-seeing for the remainder of this week?” Drusilla and Anna eagerly assented; for, in truth, they wanted some leisure for shopping and for arranging toilets in which to appear at the minister’s ball. And Dick was too polite to offer any opposition. So the next day, while the General and Dick stayed at home to lounge, read, or smoke, Anna and Drusilla drove to the West End, and ransacked all the most fashionable stores in Oxford, Regent, and Bond streets in search of new styles of flowers, laces, gloves, and so forth.