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Rh I have no doubt there are governesses and lady companions answering to both these descriptions, and I will leave my readers to guess which species and genus of companion it was my wife's lot to get.

We were now fairly settled down, and I put two elder girls to school.

We were not very long in London before my children had seen all the sights of London. The Tower of London with its high historic associations going back nearly a thousand years, and with the memories of Russell and Sidney and Raleigh, of Jane Grey and Anne Boleyn;—the lofty St. Paul's church with the tombs of England's greatest soldier and England's greatest sailor, Wellington and Nelson;—the great Parliament House looking down on the Thames and associated with all that is sturdy and noble and free in the nation's character;—the Westminister [sic] Abbey with the graves of England's crowned heads and men of genius;—these and all other sights of London were duly visited. I have seen the Pantheon in Paris and the church of Santa Croce in Florence, but I know of no place on earth where the admirer of great men feels more subdued with awe and veneration than the Westminister Abbey. I saw some new monuments of men who were still living when I was in England last. Charles Dickens has been buried not far from the monuments of Shakespeare and Byron, of Macaulay and Thackeray. Darwin sleeps not far from the monument of Sir Isaac Newton, and a monument to Longfellow has been erected near those of Dryden and