Above all, it stands in the midst of the busiest of London thoroughfares, where thousands daily, as they hurry along with the press, must look upon it; and who shall say how often many of these may not have carried away with them some impression of its beauty, majesty, and power, which may open, however unconsciously, the door to a thousand other refreshing and elevating influences?

St. Paul's is the only English cathedral built in that style of architecture which, to employ the most comprehensive phrase, may be denominated the Classic, as distinguished from what is called the Gothic, including the various forms that successively arose in Europe after the fall of the Western Empire. Of course, as there were no Christian churches in Greece and Rome, at least during the flourishing times of architecture and the other arts, a modern cathedral cannot exhibit in every respect either an imitation of any Greek or Roman building, or a complete exemplification of the principles of classic architecture. As, on the one hand, these edifices, even when most strongly marked with all the peculiarities of the Gothic style, retain traces of the fashion of the Roman Basilicæ, or royal palaces, from which they took their origin, those of them on the other hand that are in general constructed on the purest classical principles must in some things differ from any classic building that ever existed. Indeed, what is called the classic style of architecture, as exemplified in Christian churches, is in all cases something of a very mixed description. St. Peter's at Rome is an evidence of this as much as St. Paul's in London. In these two buildings the columns and the arches that connect them belong, it is true, to the ancient orders, but in almost all other respects they are nearly as unlike any Greek or Roman building as is York Minster itself.

Without entering upon the question as to which of the two styles possesses the greatest beauty or suitableness for ecclesiastical buildings in this country and climate, we may at least assume that it was desirable to have in England one cathedral not Gothic. That of London is the only one of our old cathedrals which has been entirely destroyed, and which, consequently, it had become necessary to rebuild from the foundation, since what may be called the proper age of Gothic architecture-when it was practised, we mean, not imitatively, as now, but because it was natural to the time; not as a language is spoken after it is dead by those who have learned it from books or at a school, but as men speak their vernacular tongue. This particular cathedral, therefore,―necessarily new at any rate,-seemed to offer a good opportunity for a single exemplification of a new style. No Gothic pile was sacrificed in order to make room for the classic one. At all events, it will be acknowledged that, Sir Christopher Wren being the architect, it would have been unfortunate if the task assigned to him had been the erection of a Gothic cathedral. Neither his studies nor the character of his genius fitted him for excellence in Gothic architecture. The two western towers of Westminster Abbey, which he erected, show how indifferently he would, in all probability, have acquitted himself if he had been forced to exert his powers, on this occasion also, on an attempt for which they were so little suited; and we should have lost a structure which is undoubtedly one of the noblest the world has ever seen, let us judge it by what standard we may.

Like most other cathedrals, St. Paul's is built in the form of a cross, the longer arm of the figure extending from cast to west. The shorter, or transept, is nearer the east than the west end; but there is also at the west end what may be called a smaller transept, in respect at least to the external form of the building. The entire length of the church, from east to west, is 500 feet, and that of the proper transept 285. The breadth of the body of the church is 107 feet, and that of the transept

nearly the same. Over the intersection of the transept and the nave rises a dome, surmounted by a lantern, a globe, and a cross; and two campanile towers, or belfries, also ascend from the two extremities of the west front. The height from the pavement of the church to the top of the cross over the dome is 356 feet; and the campanile towers are each about 220 feet in height. The general height of the walls is about 90 feet. The three entrances to the church are at the west end, and at the north and south ends of the transept. The two last-mentioned porches are each formed by a portion of a circle. The line of the east end of the church is also broken by a semi-circular projection of its central portion.

Such is the general outline of the external form of the Cathedral. But the vast pile, which would be imposing from its mere magnitude, had it little more to boast of, is invested with the highest degree of beauty and grandeur by the superb decorations with which almost every part of it is enriched. The west front is now generally admitted to be superior to any other in existence; not excepting that of St. Peter's. The grand portico in its centre consists of two parts; the lower formed by twelve columns of the Corinthian, and the upper by eight of the composite order. Wren's original idea was to employ only one order, and a single series of pillars ascending from the ground to the majestic height (including pedestals, capitals, and other ornaments above and below) of nearly 90 feet. In simplicity and purity, this elevation would have been superior to the present; and the effect would probably have been exceedingly noble. But the design was found impracticable, from the impossibility of finding blocks in the Portland quarries of the requisite dimensions. It may be safely said that the great architect, by the arrangement actually adopted, has made as much as it was possible to do of the materials to which he was confined, and more than was ever before made of the same space. To a spectator coming up Ludgate Hill, which must be regarded as the grand avenue to the Metropolitan Temple, this fagade, seen through the narrow opening, which almost cuts off every other object except the portico, the towers, and the dome of the Cathedral, presents a combination of majesty and beauty which cannot be contemplated by the intelligent eye without the deepest sense of the presence and the power of triumphant art. It sometimes happens that the rays of the afternoon or evening sun, coming through a clear atmosphere, are thrown strongly upon the columned and sculptured display, while a black cloud veiling the opposite quarter of the heavens, forms a back-ground, from which the whole pile projects in full relief, and so as to produce the finest contrast of light and shade. In these circumstances the west front of St. Paul's is seen in all its glory; and, although the street is both too narrow to afford a view of the whole building, and its direction is such as to show only obliquely what it does discover, it may be doubted if a more full and direct exposure at this point would produce an effect so striking and noble. It has indeed been disputed whether, upon the whole, this magnificent structure would be seen to greater or less advantage if it stood in the midst of a large open space instead of being surrounded, as it actually is, on all sides by other buildings that approach within a few yards of its walls. It is apprehended by some that, if these surrounding buildings should be removed, the Cathedral would lose much of the imposing appearance which it now derives from the contrast between its vast bulk and their comparatively puny dimensions. We are inclined to think that the church has magnitude enough to sustain itself without this foil, and that even if it stood in the midst of Salisbury Plain, with nothing else within sight but the sky and the great panorama of nature, it would be a grand object. But be that as it may, no such perfect solitude and absence of all objects of comparison would be produced by merely removing the nearest of the buildings by

which, as it stands, it is on all sides so closely environed. Houses and streets innumerable would be still around it;-it would still look down upon the whole mighty world of London, although there should be no other building within a hundred or a hundred and fifty yards of it. That distance would not take them out of the scope of the eye in whose field of vision it was the principal object; but it would allow every part of the cathedral to be seen from the proper point of view, and the whole extent of the edifice to be taken in at once, which at present can nowhere be done. Even of its magnitude we have now no other means of obtaining an idea except by walking round it. Seen from a more distant station than is now to be had,-from the front of the New Post-Office, for instance, with the intervening parts of Newgate Street, Paternoster Row, and the houses in the churchyard removed,—it would fall upon the eye and the mind with a simplicity and completeness of effect altogether new. Its size, we are convinced, would seem vaster than ever. But, at all events, whatever is admirable in the building apart from its mere magnitude, is at present in many parts nearly hidden from view altogether, and, in others, can only be seen with difficulty, and under such disadvantages as destroy more than half its magnificence or beauty. Excepting the view already mentioned that is obtained of the west front from Ludgate Street, there is scarcely a good view to be had of any other part of the body of the church. The towers and dome, indeed, are seen to great advantage from Blackfriars and Waterloo Bridges; but none of the under portion of the building is visible from these points. The glimpse afforded by the opening into Cheapside, at the north-east angle of the churchyard, is too oblique, besides being extremely limited; and the east end is so pressed upon and hidden by the buildings forming the opposite side of the street, as, unless it may be from the windows of these houses, to be nearly invisible from any point whatever.

After the west front, the north and south porches, and the latter especially, present the most superb appearance. The entablature over the principal entrance contains a representation of the miraculous conversion of St. Paul, by Francis Bird. Over the pediment are placed three statues; that on the apex representing St. Paul, that to the north St. Peter, and that to the south St. James. The entablature of the northern portico presents a carving of the royal arms supported by angels, and over the south door is a Phoenix rising from the flames, with the word Resurgam—I shall rise again -under it, in allusion to the destruction and restoration of the cathedral. The bird is carved by Gabriel Cibber, the father of the more celebrated Colley, and also the sculptor of the two statues, of great merit, which formerly stood over the front gate of the Old Bethlehem, in Moorfields. Bird modelled the scrolls, ball and cross, for the lantern, and the pines for the towers. He also executed the statue of Queen Anne, with the statues of England, France, Ireland, and America, seated at her feet, before the west front of the church; and for this group he received in all 11807. Her majesty's nose was struck off by a lunatic nearly a century ago, and has never been restored. The chiselling on the exterior of the cathedral is already everywhere great defaced, partly owing to the smoke which has settled upon it, but more from the effects of the weather upon the freestone, which unfortunately is very ill adapted to resist the winds and rains of such a climate as ours.

Before leaving the exterior of the cathedral, we ought, perhaps, to notice the iron balustrade, or railing, enclosing the portion of the churchyard immediately around the building, which is still used as a cemetery. It appears to have excited extraordinary admiration when it was first erected, although it will hardly be looked upon as anything very wonderful in the present day. It consists of between two and three thousand palisades, each five feet and a half in height, and cost above 11,000l. It

was cast at Lamberhurst in Kent. Maitland, in his 'History of London,' describes this as "the most magnificent iron balustrade, perhaps, in the universe." We may observe, also, that there is a building nearly opposite the northern portico, which is seldom noticed, even by curious observers, and which yet recalls the memory of a passage in modern ecclesiastical history, not without interest. That tall, substantial, but somewhat dingy-looking mansion is the Convocation or Chapter House of the Cathedral, and was repaired by Wren during the rebuilding of St. Paul's. Many of our readers will be aware that a kind of clerical Parliament, or Convocation, as it is called, is summoned with every new Parliament of the kingdom. The writ of the sovereign is directed to the Archbishop of Canterbury, commanding him to summon the bishops and lesser clergy. When they meet, which is usually in St. Paul's, they form the two Houses, and nominate their Speakers; but the conclusion is rather ludicrous-the moment they proceed to business, the Convocation is prorogued, to meet no more, except under similar circumstances and for a similar termination. But there was a period when the clergy turned restive under this treatment, and made a bold but unsuccessful attempt to turn their nominal powers into real ones. During the reigns of William and Anne, the clergy of the establishment became divided into two parties-the one looking with the deepest mortification and disgust on the principles of toleration in religious matters which were secured by the Revolution, and not hesitating to extend their hatred to the government of the Revolution itself; the other, holding sentiments as nearly as possible diametrically opposite. One of the modes adopted by the former party in the pursuit of their objects, was an attempt to restore to a state of speech and action their ecclesiastical parliament, which had been muzzled by repeated prorogations from the time of the meeting just after the Revolution, when the King perceived but too clearly their hostile spirit. The last year of William's reign gave them a favourable opportunity. A Tory ministry came into power, and one of the stipulations attending that event was, that a Convocation should have leave to sit. Accordingly, on the 10th of February, 1701, the day of the opening of Parliament, the two Houses of Convocation met in St. Paul's, and then adjourned to the neighbouring building. And now they went to work in a most vigorous style. Their mortal enemies, the old Commonwealth men, might have been their exemplars. They asserted that they had a right to sit whenever the Parliament sat, and could only be prorogued when that was prorogued; and when the Archbishop, on the third day of their sitting, February 25, prorogued them, they continued to sit in defiance of the order for some time, and then adjourned themselves to the day named in the Archbishop's prorogation. At one of their subsequent meetings, they asked for another of the privileges of Parliament, and one seldom resorted to even by that potential assembly-a free conference with the Upper House, which did not participate in its violence: the request was, of course, refused. Open war between the Houses now broke out. The Lower House again defied an order of prorogation: severe recrimination took place. One of the bishops, Burnet, was officially attacked for the doctrines he had put forth in his 'Exposition of the Thirty-Nine Articles,' and the whole business grew daily more and more embroiled, and was, at last, only put an end to for the time by a royal writ directed to the Archbishop, at the period of the dissolution of Parliament. The accession of Anne, with her known Tory principles, made the Lower House, at their subsequent meetings, bolder than ever, and, in consequence, made their pretensions less dangerous from their extravagance. Although the contest continued for the next few years, it was at last effectually stopped in 1717: from that time the Convocation have never been allowed to proceed to any business.