who was very old and insane,
and his son George was Prince Regent; and after the great victories of
Wellington there was a procession formed to go to St. Paul's, and
Wellington carried the sword of state before the Prince Regent to the
cathedral.

Our greatest sailor as well as our greatest soldier lies in St. Paul's,
and we can see here his tomb. We have already seen his wax effigy in
Westminster. The name of Nelson is familiar to every child, and his
sea-fights are perhaps more exciting to read about than the land
victories of Wellington. Nelson died nearly fifty years before
Wellington, and his coffin was made of the wood of the ship _Orient_.

Earl Haig, whose name became a household word to every British child
during the Great War, had expressed a wish to be buried in the ruins of
Dryburgh Abbey, near his own home, before he died, so his body is not
found here, though as one of England's great generals it might well be
here.

The great architect who built the Cathedral, Sir Christopher Wren, is
buried here, too, and in the inscription on his tombstone there are
words in Latin, which mean, 'If thou desirest to see my monument, look
around thee,' meaning that the splendid Cathedral is his best memorial.

There is one monument in London which attracts, and will always attract,
not only the attention of visitors, but the homage of the ordinary
everyday man going about his business in the London streets. This is a
curiously shaped great block of stone in the midst of Whitehall, about
which the traffic divides and passes on either side. It rears itself up
like a great cliff, and its base is never without wreaths and flowers
swathing it. This is the Cenotaph, the national memorial to the British
soldiers who gave their lives in the Great War, 1914-1918. It is simple
in form, but very solemn in outline, and you could not help knowing that
it meant something to do with the dead. On Armistice Day, each November
11--for you know that the Great War ended at the eleventh hour of the
eleventh day of the eleventh month--there is a solemn service here, and
during the two minutes' silence, after the strokes of Big Ben have begun
to sound, thousands of people stand bareheaded and absolutely immovable
around it.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MINT, THE BANK, AND THE POST-OFFICE

Has it ever occurred to you that money must be made somewhere? We do not
find it ready made in the earth or growing on trees; and if you think a
little,