The appearance of the cathedral will never be forgotten. Tiers of seats covered with black cloth rose on every side of the nave. The sombre draperies of the interior threw up the florid architecture of the great Protestant temple in relief of dazzling whiteness, and rows of gas jets round the cornices shed a soft, warm radiance on the scene. The service was choral. The Dean read the lesson, and when the “Nunc dimittis” was chanted, a dirge accompanied by trumpets followed, at the end of which the body was slowly lowered into the vault, the while the organ and wind instruments pealed forth the sad strains of the “Dead March.” As the coffin slowly vanished from view a wave of intensely sorrowful emotion passed over the vast assembly of mourners. Prince Albert visibly shook with grief. The veteran Marquis of Anglesey lost control of his feelings. Tears suddenly coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and, stepping forward, he placed his trembling hand on the vanishing coffin, as if to bid a last farewell to his old chief and companion in arms. The rest of the service proceeded in the usual manner, the conclusion of the ritual being Handel’s anthem--“His body is buried in peace.” Thereupon Garter King at Arms stepped forward and proclaimed the style and titles of the illustrious dead, and the Comptroller of the Household of the Duke advanced, broke his staff of office, and handed the pieces to Garter King at Arms, who laid them in the grave. The Bishop of London pronounced the benediction, and all was over. The Queen and Prince Albert were of opinion that no _éloge_ on the great Duke was in better taste than Lord John Russell’s; but, perhaps, the one that will best stand the test of time was that of Alfred Tennyson:-- “Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore? Here in streaming London’s central roar, Let the sound of those he wrought for, And the feet of those he fought for, Echo round his bones for evermore. * * * * *