teps of royalty, who living in long past days, had held sway over
this land, had looked upon this land of "merrie England" as their home.
London, like a mighty Babel, rose before them, her gigantic towers
telling of man's greatness, while the resplendent shining of the sun,
reflected from a million turrets, proclaimed that there was one above
all. St. Paul's, with its dome of grandeur, reflecting not only honor
upon her world-renowned architect, Sir Christopher Wren, but standing a
living memento that Christ hath built his church upon earth.

Westminster must be visited by every stranger. As Natalie roamed over
this vast structure, in itself a world of curiosity, like so many small
churches roofed in by one great canopy, she lingered in the south
transept, in what is called the Poet's Corner. Here are the tombs of
many of the most famous poets of England. Chaucer, Edmund Spencer,
Francis Beaumont, and others, have tablets here erected to their memory,
while in other chapels are monuments erected in memory of sovereigns,
who have long since gone to render an account of their deeds done here,
to the one great Sovereign of the universe. As the eye of Natalie rested
upon the tomb of the gentle Mary, Queen of Scots, the history of whose
brief life, and the many cruel indignities which were heaped upon her,
rushing to her memory, she stood as if riveted to the spot, when a voice
near her attracted her attention, and a rough-looking old sailor,
tarpaulin in hand, threw himself at her feet, exclaiming,--"Bless the
memory of old England! She is more sensible than I ever thought for.
They couldn't have done a nobler thing than to have placed _her_
likeness here!" and thus the jolly fellow's tongue flew, as if he would
re-spin all the forecastle yarns of his lifetime, much to the
discomfiture of the eagle-eyed guide, who bade the intruder begone; but
our nautical friend, deigning to give this polite invitation to depart
no further notice than he would have given to the juvenile whales, as
they were taking first lessons in spouting of their maternal protector,
the guide seized him by the shoulder, and was about to show honest Jack
what virtue there was in "force of arms," when Mr. Alboni interfered,
saying,--let us at least hear what the honest fellow would say
for himself."

"Your honor,", exclaimed Jack, whose very countenance spoke as plainly
as a nose which appeared as if it had been imitating the feathered
tribes, in their ef