gest any alteration on the spot. Looking at it later on, I had to admit that it was beautiful.
By and by he pointed to another spire.
"See that spire?"
"Yes."
"Horrible—by So-and-So."
It did look ugly. After a while he pointed again.
"See that spire?"
"Yes."
"By Wren—perfect. Slightly different in design from the other."
There was a slight difference. Later on we came to Westminster Abbey.
"See that tower?"
"Yes."
"Restored by Wren. But—" (he hesitated), "but the top doesn't somehow seem——"
It didn't seem to fit the bottom. That's what he meant. But he was too much a Londoner, and too great a worshipper of Wren, to see where the trouble was. I think I saw it at once. Wren had simply taken the tops of four spires he had on hand and put one on each corner of the tower. If ever a pun was justified, Wren was an inspired man. He wasn't a tower man, and in restoring the Abbey he wasn't laying to his book. He was working on his reputation—or, maybe, he was hard up at the time.
I'll take you into Westminster Abbey when I'm in a more cheerful frame of mind.
