THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

Lyttelton Times, Volume III, Issue 118, 9 April 1853, Page 4

THE FUNERAL OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

We, were enabled in our last to give some particulars of the funeral of " the greatest man of a great age," as Mr. Disraeli called the late Duke in the House of Commons. We have now before us the Times' report of the Ceremony, which fills 12 columns of that journal, from which we extract the leading- particulars., There is scarcely any other topic of general interest in the public journals. "Yesterday the mortal remains of Arthur Duke of Wellington were conveyed from the Horse Guards to the Cathedral.of-St. Paul's, and there buried by the side of Nelson. A million and a half of people beheld and participated in the ceremonial, ■which was national in the truest and largest sense of the word. The pomp of a public funeral, the military pageant in the streets, the glorious companionship of the tomb to which he has been consigned, and the overshadowing canopy of the sacred edifice under which he rests—these are the outward manifestations of respect which the name of a mighty chief naturally claimed from his countrymen, and which could hardly in such a case have been dispensed with. What, how- ' ever, makes the difference between the obsequies of the Duke of Wellington and of any other great man ? It is this ; that a long life, filled; with the most distinguished services, made him so well known, so thoroughly appreciated, and so heartily admired by all classes of Englishmen that his death has affected everybody like a personal concern. Grief, of course, in the usual sense of the term,is out of the question, for tears and lamentations may be dispensed with where- the ordinary measure of our days has been so greatly surpassed ; but sentiments subli.mer far than sorrow are awakened by such spectacles as'that of yesterday. Through the countless thousands then gathered along the streets of London ran the strong currents of feeling and of thought which go to form the spirit of a nation.. More,or less clearlyrealised by all, each after his own bent of mind, thought of his country and of him who/in the hour of peril, was her strong defence and tower of strength. His military genius arid his civil services, dignified by patriotism, were the recollections swelling in their hearts, and therefore, they tendered to his memory the willing homage of their reverence and gratitude. The pageant of the funeral afforded the facilities for doing so by a public manifestation,, and we have now to describe, as best we may, how a free •people celebrate the obsequies of a-man" like Wellington. The spectacle was such as none oi us can ever hope, or indeed wish, to.see the ', like of again, for terrible indeed must be the condition of Europe eve a second Wellington shall be needed to terminate its strife. When the independence of England and of tbe world was assailed Providence sent us a champion, and as the myriads of his countrymen yesterday watched with the deepest interest the transit of his body to the tomb, many a heartfelt prayer must have been uttered that, should days of darkness again come and this land of freedom be once more threatened, God may "rant us another Wellesley to lead our armies and win our battles. "Before daybreak yesterday, in accordance with the arrangement of the programme, and with the terms of the general orders issued, the troops appointed to take part in the funeral began to muster in St. James-park, in the Mall, and on the parade ground behind the Horse Griiards. The coaches also, which were to join in the procession, were assembled there, and within a spacious tent workmen of all kinds, who had toiled incessantly the whole night through, were busily engaged in completing the decorations of the funeral car. Day broke heavily, the wind being loaded with moisture, the sky threatening-looking, and the streets giving the most unequivocal tokens of a night of heavy rain. It was as cold and cheerless a morning as could well be conceived, and one could not help inwardly pitying the thousands of anxious and excited spectators who were standing it out, having never been to bed. As daylight came a dusky mass of armed menj seen on the left side of the parade facing towards the Horse Guards, became distinguishable as the Rifles; their sombre uniforms harmonising with the occasion. Looking to the right, the eye rested next, through the grey morning,

on the Koyal Marines and the 33rd Regiment, drawn up in column directly opposite the Horse Guards. To the right of these were the Fusilier, Coldstream, and Grenadier Guards, the whole force forming an imposing array to British eyes, though small in comparison with Continental musters. At the east end of the Mall might be observed the head of the cavalry force, comprising! eight squadrons from the most distinguished regiments in the service; and gallant and splendid they looked on a closer survey, as, drawn up with military precision, they awaited the signal to start. It was of course impossible, except from a house-top, to take in at one view all the troops upon the ground and standing at the Horse Guards. The Infantry formed the most striking feature of the spectacle—their standards covered with crape drooping heavily, and swayed about occasionally by the bearers, while the morning light glimmered faintly upon the serried rows of bayonets. As the morning advanced a brilliant muster of officers gathered near the gateway of the Horse Guards, some intent on haying a good view of the funeral car, which was a great object of attraction, while others issued orders or made inquiries with reference to the procession. The coffin was removed from the chamber in which it had rested during the night, and by the aid of machinery was raised to its position on the lofty summit of the car. At 8 o'clock the hangings of the tent which concealed it from the view were suddenly furled up. The first minute gun was fired, the troops presented arms and saluted the body, upon which the roll of the muffled drum followed by the music of the " Dead March" in Saul, announced that the procession had commenced. This was certainly one of the most impressive and strikingfeatures in the ceremonial, and the effect of it will long be remembered by the multitudes who, from every window, platform, balcony, and house-top overlooking the park, had a view of the spectacle. " The plan on which the order of procession was arranged is Avorthy of some notice, the more so as it indicates a praiseworthy desire on the part of the Herald's College to follow in these matters the spirit of the age, to which heraldry, like everything else, must sooner or later conform. To stamp the funeral with a military character, the troops led the way, the regiments of which the Duke was colonel having precedence. All brandies of the service—infantry, cavalry, and artillery—were represented, to show the full scope of the Com-mander-in-Chief s office, and a Field Marshal's dignity. The veteran character of the deceased —his experience in war, and the length of days with which he had been blessed, notwithstanding its risks, are the next points illustrated; and, to realise this to the mind, the eighty-three Chelsea pensioners, the enrolled pensioners, and the corps made up of single soldiers from every regiment in the service; took part in the procession. The East India Company's army was also represented to show the wideness of the sphere to which the Duke's services had extended, and to recal the memory of those famous eastern fields on which he won his earliest laurels. From the reminiscences of his military career the symbolical significance of the funeral programme turns to less obtrusive, buthardlv less interesting points. From his relations with his domestics to those arising out of public appointments, and connecting him with public bodies, the order of precedence rises, until at last the train that bears him to the tomb is swelled by the greatest names in the State, the Queen alone excepted. This was the least telling part of the procession as a spectacle, though the most remarkable as a tribute to the greatness of the man. The mourning coaches prepared for the occasion, and the carriages of our great nobles and men of highest mark and consequence, are certainly objects worth looking at, but they do not strike the eye like a brilliant i hue of cavalry, and even the ponderous vehicle which bears the burden of civic majesty had its gilded glories eclipsed by the superior attractions of the military pageant. The lon«- list ot deputations and delegates belonging to our greatest corporate bodies, or representing the different orders of honour and merit, and the roll ot Ministers and great officers of State culminate in the name of his Royal Highness Prince Albert, and to him, in the programme succeed the batons and the coronet won by the deceased—the rewards and emblems of his military genius. Here, too, come the foreign princes and warriors appointed by their respective Governments to represent them on the oc-

casion ; and tlius his career,, his estimation among his countrymen and, his dignities, heralding the way, his body is borne to the tomb by eight general officers—his most distinguished companions inarms—officiating as pall-bearers. The Chief Mourner and relatives and friends of the deceased follow, then his horse, arid, finally, the order of the procession (reverting' to the military idea) closed up with a detachment from every regiment in the service, under the command of General' Wetherall. " Having explained the spirit in which yesterday's solemnity was arranged, we now proceed to give some account of the manner in which it was carried out. As each regiment or body of troops filed off in the appointed order, its band led the way, playing the " Dead March" or other appropriate pieces, accompanied at intervals by the roll of the muffled drums. The men, of course, carried their arms reversed, which, combined with the mournful music and the slow funeral pace at which they marched, had a singularly imposing effect. To the troops the mourning coaches and carriages, properly marshalled, succeeded ; and the length of the procession may be imagined when we state that though the rifles led the way, at 8 o'clock, it was 25 minutes past 9 before the car started, andhalf.au hour later before the extreme rear was in motion. Let the reader who did not witness the spectacle endeavour to picture in imagination the stately pomp of the military pageant passing in long column along the spacioiis.ayenue of the Mall, and then winding up Constitution-hill, while thousands upon thousands of spectators, in respectful silence, witness its progress. Let him fancy the departure of carriages and mourning coaches, broken at intervals by marshahnen, messengers of the College of Arms, trumpeters, pursuivants, and heraldic standard bearers. The strains of music, martial yet solemn in its character, rise, die away, and are taken up again at intervals, and at length the moment has arrived for the funeral car to move forward. As it formed by far the most magnificent and interesting'feature, of the procession, some account of its general design and most prominent details will not be but of place. The whole lower part is of bronze, supported on six wheels, and elaborated with an amount of skill and artistic feeling which deserve unqualifiedpraise. Above this metallic framework rises a rich pediment of gilding, in the panels of which the following list of victories is inscribed:—Ahmednuggur, Assaye, Argaum, Gavilghur, Roleia, Vimiera, Douro and Oporto, Talavera, Busaco, Torres Vedras, Fuentos dOnor Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajos, Salamanca, Vittoria, Pampeluna, Pyrinees, St. Sebastian, Nivelle, Nive, Orthes, Toulouse, Quatre Bras, Waterloo. On the sides of this pediment were arranged lofty trophies of arms, including spears, muskets, bayonets, swords, and flags, and surmounted by the Ducal coronets and batons. A similar trophy stood in front, rising behind the arms of the deceased, cast in bronze, and surmounted by his heraldic badges and honours, including the tabard magnificently wrought and embroidered. Over the bier and its bearers, the gilded handles of which protruded from beneath, was arranged the sumptuous velvet pall, powdered with silver embroidery, bordered with laurels in silver, and showing the legend round it, " Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord," and terminated by a magnificent fringe of silver two feet1 deep. Ihe coffin, with the Duke's hat and sword resting on it, surmounted the bier, and from four great halberts rising at each corner was suspended a magnificent canopy, with pendent cords and tassels of the richest and most costly description. To this gigantic vehicle, 27 feet long, 10 feet broad, 17 feet high, and weighing--1110 t0 1* tons, 12 of the largest and finest black horses that could be procured were harnessed three abreast. They were completely covered with velvet housings, having the arms oi the deceased splendidly embroidered on them, and with heads surmounted by nodding' plumes they looked quite elephantine. Such was the funeral car as it fell into the line of procession, having on each side five colonels on horseback, bearing the baunerols of the Wellesley family. " We now proceed to give some idea, not of the pageant itself, for its length precluded the possibility of seeing more than detached portions of it at a time, but rather of the public reception which it experienced on its way, and ot the unexampled spectacle which the streets ot this metropolis exhibited throughout the day. Words are, we feel, completely powerless to

convey .anything like a just idea of a demonstration so 'marvellous. On no occasion in modern times has such a concourse of people been gathered together, and never probably has the sublimity which is expressed by the presence of the masses been so transcenderitly displayed. The progress, tod, of the procession imparted to it in this respect an almost dramatic unity and completeness, for, from the regions of palaces .ana great mansions, and from the assemblages of the wealthy, the titled, and the great, it passed, first, among great gatherings of the middle classes, then through thoroughfares swarming with myriads of the people, and finally closed its course at the lofty threshold of the metropolitan cathedral, the centre of London, now engaged by a new tie to the affections of the country by having deposited under its dome the ashes of England's greatest son. The first remarkable assemblage of spectators that received the procession on its course, after leaving the area of the parade, was collected on the long terraced balconies of Carlton gardens, and on the wide steps ascending to the Duke of York's column. When the car arrived in front of Buckingham Palace it halted for a short time, giving her Majesty and the royal family, who were in the balcony, above the main entrance, a good opportunity of seeing it. Passing up Constitution Hill, as the car approached Grosvenor Gate, the numbers assembled within the park greatly increased, and nearly all the trees were filled with spectators. At the gate itself a halt was made, and the eye naturally turned, in the first place, towards Apsley House, which was completely closed, and had a strange, tenantless, deserted look in the midst of the vast multitudes assembled all round it. The top of Grosvenor-place was filled, as far as a sight of the procession could be obtained, with avast sea. of. human faces, upturned and anxiously gazing.iit the pageant which swept along. Every window was filled, the housetops also swarmed,with people, and the portico and roof of St. George.'s Hospital especially were •crowned with human beings. Another striking point of view was formed by the arches leading into Hyde-park, the architecture of which acquired a new expression from the manner in which the people had grouped themselves within, above, and around it. And now, as the procession approached the head of St. James'sstreet, and passed across the entrances of streets diverging on both hands from the route which it was taking, a new feature of the most remarkable kind began to develope itself. The entrances of those side streets were completely built up with living masses of men and women, forming, to all appearances, a mount or rampart of heads, which were all duly and respectfully uncovered as the stately funeral car swept by. The windows, too, as far as the eye could reach, had people thrust from them eagerly gazing, and the housetops, of course, had their adventurous crowds of occupants. It almost seemed as if the whole world had assembled to witness the ceremonial, for the people were everywhere—built into the walls, swarming in the streets, and. clustered like hives on every projection and parapet. When St. James'street was reached, the double view first, eastwards, along Piccadilly, and then down towards the Palace, was singularly impressive. The line of procession now led along the region of clubs, the fronts of which were for the most part fitted up with balconies draped in black, and there sat immense numbers of ladies provided with places by the courtesy and gallantry of the members. The car had reached the foot of St. James-street about half-past ten, having occupied an hour on its way there from the Horse Guards. At St. James's Palace Her Majesty and the Royal Family had a second view of the procession. The view up Eegentstreet, along towards Cockspuv-street, and on the right-hand side, in the direction of the Duke of York's column, was really astounding. In addition, however, to the-number of people within one's glance at this point, there was something particularly touching in the muster of old officers at the Senior United, many of whom looked with unusual earnestness at the great car, as with its illustrious burden, to the roll of drums and the fitful strains of martial music, it rolled upon its way. The Haymarket and Trafalgar-square were great centres of attraction. At the latter point there could not have been much less than 40,000 people assembled. Along the Strand and the streets adjoining it the multitudes thickened, both on the pavement and in the houses, and appeared, if possible, to grow denser. The first part.of the

procession was remarkable from the well filled balconies of private mansions and assemblages of a well-dressed commonalty. To that succeeded the display of the clubs. From Char-ing-cross a new phase in tlie character of the funeral pageant and its reception became apparent. The demonstrations of respect became parochial, and the churches formed the great centre's for spectators. " Thousands of people filled the spacious' balconies that surrounded them. The shop windows had been turned to account in a most marvellous way, and inclosed numbers of full-grown people, compvessing themselves for the occasion into the dimensions of charity-school children, and looking perfectly placid and resigned under circumstances that would be ordinarily regarded as amounting to the peine forte et (Lure. It is rather a singular fact that the only attempt at a motto or inscription to the memory of the Duke was that suspended over the entrance to Exeter Hall—" Non sibi sed pair ice." It was probably felt that things of the kind in this country, where they are little understood, are best avoided, and that the obsequies of a great man were best celebrated by a great public demonstration of silent respect. At Temple-bar the awkward operation of lowering the halberts and canopy of the car, was performed with less difficulty than had been anticipated, and from that point to the cathedral all that we have said of the crowds assembled at earlier points in the route maybe repeated and enlarged as much as possible without being overstrained. The car arrived at the entrance to the cathedral about 10 minutes after 12, and preparations for the removal of the coffin were immediately made, but something. was wrong, or went wrong, and the consequence was a delay of nearly an hour and a-half before the funeral procession down the nave could be formed. In the interval, the entrance to the cathedral presented a singular and not uninteresting spectacle. There were old generals and field officers, the illustrious companions in arms of the Duke, enduring as best they could the force of the searching November wind which blew keenly through the open doorway of the sacred edifice. The distinguished foreigners withdrew before it several times, and the clergy, who, in double lines extending along the nare, waited for the service to begin, vainly sheltered their faces in their robes. Garter and his colleagues stood it out bravely, and, after many efforts, at length succeeded in marshalling the procession. It was a fine and an imposing sight to see the muster of old veterans at the entrance during this detention—Sir William Napier sitting on a kettle-drum—Sir Charles moving about with the activity of a much younger man —Lord Hardinge also vigorous, and full of life ; but, most wonderful of ail, the Marquis of Anglesey, with bald, uncovered head, apparently unconscious of the fact that age stands exposure to cold less successfully than youth. The great distinguishing feature of yesterday's ceremonial remains, however. The luneral pomp, splendid as it was, is nothing, but the million and a half of mourners will be remembered as a historic fact—a shining proof that we have not forgotten to value patriotism, and that the memory of him who on so many fields defended the liberties of his country is embalmed in the hearts of her people. "St. Paul's Church-yard. " St. Paul's Churchyard had been a scene of the utmost bustle from the early part of the morning-. There was probably no better place for obtaining a favourable view of the procession than the front of the cathedral. Let the reader take his stand with us in the gallery outside that edifice, just above the western entrance, and let us say what we see. It is a gallery, or balcony, which the passer-by may hardly observe, but it springs into importance on such an occasion as this. '• It is 10 o'clock in the morning as we walk up the geometrical staircase, and step out on the balcony, to look upon a scene already singular and exciting. A mart of commerce has become a garrison. St. Paul's is invested. In the enclosure before us Queen Anne looks down unconscious upon a guard of honour, at present waiting about in groups, as soldiersdo, their arms piled near "the balustades. There is a clear sweep of road in view; the sun is behind us, and will be for these two hours, and we can see everything «s distinctly as possible all the way to Farringdon-street. You see the roadway clear and'empty, as you might see it at 4 , o'clock on a summer's morning:, but there is contrast enough ou the pavement on either side

of the street. There people are jammed asclose as human beings can be. The houses seem bursting -with people —every window is full, and the roofs bristle with heads. Some of the roofs have awnings put up, to protect those who stand upon the tiles or leads from the weather. Everything speaks of crowd—the street lamps are left lighted, either because the lamplighters could not get at them to put them out, or because they could not have lighted them again. We can hear the hum of an innumerable multitude. "There is a stir among the soldiers; they are getting into order. The Life Guards ride into the churchyard from Dean's Yard. A host of infantry now approach, advancing up Ludgate Hill in single file, one file on each side of the street. The train seems interminable. They pass the church, and clear off in an easterly direction. It is now 11 o'clock. These files of infantry have ended, and after an interval the general procession comes. It is still military. Sometimes there is a successton of guns, sometimes dense masses of the Guards. At intervals there are the bands of various regiments. It is very striking, these successive bands; as one passes by the church, and the music dies upon the ear, the notes of the next band begin to be heard, taking up the wail. Now come the 83 Chelsea pensioners, wearing their medals, it is a company that seem to excite general interest ; the soldiers went past the church—the pensioners go in. Next, the " one soldier from every regiment"—an interesting group. The procession noAv begins to be one of carriages and mourning coaches. The Sheriff's carriage approach, but they are hardly in keeping with a funeral procession ; their gay decorations require some signs of mourning about them on such an occasion. The Speaker is there in his quaint State carriage; and the Lord Mayor in that capacious vehicle of his. Now come three Royal carriages, with those noble horses which it is a treat to see; the third carriage brings Prince Albert. We cannot see him, but the salute as he passes the troops proclaims his presence. We miss the foreign batons, but it is because they are carried in closed mourning coaches. All eyes now watch for the funeral car. It is drawn by twelve black horses, three abreast, and covered -with, velvet, presenting such a dark foreground that we can hardly see whether the car is drawn by horses or not. The car is driven in at the churchyard gates, and drawn up in front of the great western door. After follows that touching sight— the horse Jed after the bier of its master. There still remains a very interesting passage. Officers and men from every regiment in the service march past. The churchyard from the entrance up to the car is cleared ; the coffin is there before all eyes; the Duke of Cambridge, the Commander, stands at the gate with his sword drawn in his hand, and the men who represent the whole army of England march slowly and sadly by. There has not been a more striking or effective circumstance in the proceedings of the clay. The soldiers seem to be impressed with the situation. It is the final token of reverence for their departed chief. It is rendered in solemn silence. It closes the procession, with the exception only that the carriages of the Sovereign here most appropriately follow. " The Caxheduai,. "It is, of course, impossible to give any idea of the simple and magnificently boJd proportions of this great Christian temple to those who have not seen it, or some similar building by which they can form a standard of comparison ; still less was its aspect yesterday capable of being rendered to strangers by any wordpainting. Even those who best know the building, winch the genius of Wren has made the architectural chef d'eeuvre of London, could scarcely have recognised it without a little preparation as it then appeared. A faint twinkling circlet of gas jets run flickering round by the base of the great dome, lighting up the limbs and features of the actors in the huge subjects painted on the concave walls above, and seeming to endue them with a doubtful life. In a line with the base of the dome, and stretching from capital to capital of the pilasters which in equal partition mark out the walls of nave and transept throughout the length and breadth of St. Paul's, the same simple but most effective decoration was called into use, and lighted the base of the semicnlar roof with a line of bright fire. Sweeping round the area covered by the dome, a. grand circle of seats rose from the floor to the furthest available height in the rear, spreading for into the transept in receding- rows,

and coming abruptly to a space of not more than four or five rows deep, where the broad pillars at the end of the nave cut off its further extension. The seats at each side of the organ ■were crowded, and the wide expanse of benches reserved for peeresses and their friends, which spread from the organ loft almost to the floor of the area, were occupied by ladies, most 'of whom were in deep mourning. In the centre of the area beneath the dome was placed a frame about S feet high, by the same length, and by a breadth of five feet, covered with black cloth, and some seats or hassocks were arranged around it, of the same colour with •white borders. " At first the general impression left by the scene was rather cold and unsatisfactory. The seats were not quite filled. The temporary population of the cathedral was shifting and fitful, and some occasional sunbeams rather impaired the effect of the gas illumination. The surpassing interest of the occasion, however, soon overcame the influence of all such trivial drawbacks. As the eye gazed the picture was filling with every colour and with every touch of art. It grew from a mere black, gaunt skeleton framework of wood and stone, and sombre faces and heads, lighted by serpentine gas jets, into a vast dome, with wide-spreading arms and wings, which embraced within its grasp all that this great empire can produce of genius, science, and. statesmanship. " The early morning was dark, windy, and wet, but, with rare good fortune for such a time of the year, the sightseers in the streets were favoured with fine weather, for it cleared up as the. day advanced, though a biting cold wind, which whistled down the western entrance along the nave, searching the very bones of the spectators, reminded them forcibly and unceasingly thatit was an English Autumn outside. The old generals were among the earliest arrivals. The old admirals were equally exact, and every eye in: the cathedral was soon directed to that quarter where orders, stars, ribands and crosses, glittering on bright scarlet and blue, told of men who had served their country and had fought by the side of the great warrior whose remains were approaching their last home. Sir C. Napier, with his eagle face, moving stiffly along from the effect of his old wounds — his brother, Sir William, with a frame, if possible, still more shattered by ball and perforated by bayonet,—Lord Gough, with his noble soldierlike bearing, Lord Seaton, Lord . Combermere, Sir James M'Donnell, Sir A Woodford, Sir TV. Cotton, these, and many other gallant veterans, called one's mind back to the days when Wellesley led his ill-provided levies against the disciplined battalions of the great Emperor, and taught a generation of soldiers who are yet among us the way to conquer. " The procession entered in the order which had been observed throughout. As each flaoaud guidon was carried to the area of the place ■whereon the coffin was to lie, it was planted in due order by the bearer. The Commons, nobly headed by the Speaker, moved to. their places. JNext came the Lords, preceded by the Lord Chancellor, in state. Then came the marshals and generals of Spain, Russia, Prussia, Portugal, the .Netherlands, and Hanover, moving slowly onwards towards the area, amid the strains of sad music, till they formed in two glittering columns around the resting-place of the bier. At a quarter past twelve the clergy and the. choir proceeded slowly up the nave to receive the remains. Clothed in white with black bands and sashes, the procession moved in two streams of two and two through the dignified and richly attired assemblage till they halted at the door, where they drew up in column /our deep. A considerable delay took place in removing the coffin from the funeral Cff' ,r? le," ded somewh"t to impair the effect of the solemn ceremonial. This untoward stoppage excited the anxiety of the spectators, out at length there was a universal hush, and as.if moved by one mind, the whole of the vast assemblage stood up in respectful grief as the coffin appeared in sight, preceded by the choir with measured tread as they chaunted the beginning of the burial service by Dr Croft When the coffin was borne in, the wind stirred the feathers of the Marshal's hat placed upon the lid, and produced an indescribably sorrowful effect, in giving an air of light and playful life to that where all was dead. And thus, with the hoarse roar of the multitude without as they saw their last of Arthur, Duke of Wellington with the grand and touching service of our

Church sounding solemnly through the arched dome and aisles of the noble Church, with the glistening eye and hushed breath of many a gallant as well as of many a gentle soul in that vast multitude—with the bell tolling solemnly the knell of the departed, taken up by the voice of the distant cannon, [amid the quiet waving of bannerol and flag, surrounded by all the greatness of the land—with all the pomp and glories of heraldic achievement, escutcheon and device—his body was borne up St. Paul's. At 40 minutes past 1, the coffin was slid off the moveable carriage in which it had been conveyed up the nave to the frame in the centre of the area under the dome, which was placed almost directly over the tomb of Nelson, which lies in the crypt below. The Marshal's hat and sword of the deceased were removed from the coffin, and in their place a ducal coronet, on a velvet cushion, was substituted. " The foreign Marshals and Generals stood at the head of the coffin ; at the south side of it stood His Royal Highness.Piince Albert standing a little in advance of a numerous staff of officers. At each side of the coffin were British Generals who had acted as pall-bearers. After the psalm and anthem, the Dean read with great solemnity and impressiveness, the lesson, 1 Cor. xv., 20, which was followed by the Nunc Dimittis, and a dirge, with the following words set to music by Mr. Goss :— " And the King said to all the people that were with him, 'Rend your clothes and gird you with sackcloth and mourn.' And the King himself followed the bier. " And they buried him. And the King lifted up his voice and wept at the grave, and all the people wept. " And the King said unto his servauts, ' Know ye not that there is a Prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel ?'" " And now came the roll of muffled drums, and the wailing notes of the horn and cornet, and the coffin slowly sank into the crypt amid the awful strains of Handel's " Dead March." The ducal crown disappeared with its gorgeous support, and in the centre of the group of generals and nobles was left a dark chasm, into which every eye glanced sadly down, and all knew indeed that a Prince and a great man had that day gone from Israel. The remaining portions of the funeral service were then performed. The congregation were requested to join in the responses to the Lord's Prayer ; and the effect of many thousand voices in deep emotion repeating the words after the full enunciation of the Dean was intensely affecting. " His body is buried in peaue; " But his name liveth evermore ;" from Handel's funeral anthem, was then most effectively performed by the choir. And then Garter King-at-Arms, standing over the vault, proclaimed the titles and orders of the deceased, " whom Heaven has pleased to take from us." " Then the late Duke's comptroller having broken in pieces his staff of office in the household handed it to the Garter King-at-Arms, who cast the fragments into the vault. The choir and chorus sang the hymn, " Sleepers, awake!" and the Bishop of London, standing by the side of the Lord Chancellor, pronounced the blessing, which concluded the ceremony. " And thus was buried, with all state and honour, the great Duke of Wellington."