Chapter XXI…

Chapter XXI

ST. PAUL'S (continued).

The Rebuilding of St. Paul's--Ill Treatment of its Architect--Cost of the Present Fabric--Royal Visitors--The First Grave in St. Paul's--Monuments in St. Paul's--Nelson's Funeral--Military Heroes in St. Paul's--The Duke of Wellington's Funeral--Other Great Men in St. Paul's--Proposals for the Completion and Decoration of the Building--Dimensions of St. Paul's--Plan of Construction--The Dome, Ball, and Cross--Mr. Homer and his Observatory--Two Narrow Escapes--Sir James Thornhill--Peregrine Falcons on St. Paul's--Nooks and Corners of the Cathedral--The Library, Model Room, and Clock--The Great Bell--A Lucky Error--Curious Story of a Monomaniac--The Poets and the Cathedral--The Festivals of the Charity Schools and of the Sons of the Clergy.

Towards the rebuilding of St. Paul's Cathedral, Charles II., generous as usual in promises, offered an annual contribution of £1,000; but this, however, never seems to have been paid. It, no doubt, went to pay Nell Gwynne's losses at the gambling-table, or to feed the Duchess of Portsmouth's lap-dogs. Some £1,700 in fines, however, were set apart for the new building. The Primate Sheldon gave £2,000. Many of the bishops contributed largely, and there were parochial collections all over England. But the bulk of the money was obtained from the City duty on coals, which (as Dean Milman remarks) in time had their revenge in destroying the stone-work of the Cathedral. It was only by a fortunate accident that Wren became the builder; for Charles II., whose tastes and vices were all French, had in vain invited over Perrault, the designer of one of the fronts of the Louvre.

The great architect, Wren, was the son of a Dean of Windsor, and nephew of a Bishop of Norwich whom Cromwell had imprisoned for his Romish tendencies. From a boy Wren had shown a genius for scientific discovery. He distinguished himself in almost every branch of knowledge, and to his fruitful brain we are indebted for some fifty-two suggestive discoveries. He now hoped to rebuild London on a magnificent scale; but it was not to be. Even in the plans for the new cathedral Wren was from the beginning thwarted and impeded. Ignorance, envy, jealousy, and selfishness met him at every line he drew. He made two designs--the first a Greek, the second a Latin cross. The Greek cross the clergy considered as unsuitable for a cathedral. The model for it was long preserved in the Trophy Room of St. Paul's, where, either from neglect or the zeal of relic-hunters, the western portico was lost. It is now at South Kensington, and is still imperfect. The interior of the first design is by many considered superior to the present interior. The present recesses along the aisles of the nave, tradition says, were insisted on by James II., who thought they would be useful as side chapels when masses were once more introduced.

The first stone was laid by Wren on the 21st June, 1675, but there was no public ceremonial. Soon after the great geometrician had drawn the circle for the beautiful dome, he sent a workman for a stone to mark the exact centre. The man returned with a fragment of a tombstone, on which was the one ominous word (as every one observed) "Resurgam!" The ruins of old St. Paul's were stubborn. In trying to blow up the tower, a passer-by was killed, and Wren, with his usual ingenuity, resorted successfully to the old Roman battering-ram, which soon cleared a way. "I build for eternity," said Wren, with the true confidence of genius, as he searched for a firm foundation. Below the Norman, Saxon, and Roman graves he dug and probed till he could find the most reliable stratum. Below the loam was sand; under the sand a layer of fresh-water shells; under these were sand, gravel, and London clay. At the north-east corner of the dome Wren was vexed by coming upon a pit dug by the Roman potters in search of clay. He, however, began from the solid earth a strong pier of masonry, and above turned a short arch to the former foundation. He also slanted the new building more to the north-east than its predecessor, in order to widen the street south of St. Paul's.

Well begun is half done. The Cathedral grew fast, and in two-and-twenty years from the laying of the first stone the choir was opened for Divine service. The master mason who helped to lay the first stone assisted in fixing the last in the lantern. A great day was chosen for the opening of St. Paul's. December 2nd, 1697, was the thanksgiving day for the Peace of Ryswick--the treaty which humbled France, and seated William firmly and permanently on the English throne. The king, much against his will, was persuaded to stay at home by his courtiers, who dreaded armed Jacobites among the 300,000 people who would throng the streets. Worthy Bishop Compton, who, dressed as a trooper, had guarded the Princess Anne in her flight from her father, preached that inspiring day on the text, "I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord." From then till now the daily voice of prayer and praise has never ceased in St. Paul's.

Queen Anne, during her eventful reign, went seven times to St. Paul's in solemn procession, to commemorate victories over France or Spain. The first of these (1702) was a jubilee for Marlborough's triumph in the Low Countries, and Rooke's destruction of the Spanish fleet at Vigo. The Queen sat on a raised and canopied throne; the Duke of Marlborough, as Groom of the Stole, on a stool behind her. The Lords and Commons, who had arrived in procession, were arranged in the choir. The brave old Whig Bishop of Exeter, Sir Jonathan Trelawney ("and shall Trelawney die?"), preached the sermon. Guns at the Tower, on the river, and in St. James's Park, fired off the Te Deum, and when the Queen started and returned. In 1704, the victory of Blenheim was celebrated; in 1705, the forcing of the French lines at Tirlemont; in 1706, the battle of Ramillies and Lord Peterborough's successes in Spain; in 1707, more triumphs; in 1708, the battle of Oudenarde; and last of all, in 1713, the Peace of Utrecht, when the Queen was unable to attend. On this last day the charity children of London (4,000 in number) first attended outside the church.

St. Paul's was already, to all intents and purposes, completed. The dome was ringed with its golden gallery, and crowned with its glittering cross. In 1710, Wren's son and the body of Freemasons had laid the highest stone of the lantern of the cupola, and now commenced the bitterest mortifications of Wren's life. The commissioners had dwindled down to Dean Godolphin and six or seven civilians from Doctors' Commons. Wren's old friends were dead. His foes compelled him to pile the organ on the screen, though he had intended it to be under the north-east arch of the choir, where it now is. Wren wished to use mosaic for internal decoration; they pronounced it too costly, and they took the painting of the cupola out of Wren's hands and gave it to Hogarth's father-in-law, Sir James Thornhill. They complained of wilful delay in the work, and accused Wren or his assistant of corruption; they also withheld part of his salary till the work was completed. Wren covered the cupola with lead, at a cost of £2,500; the committee were for copper, at £3,050. About the iron railing for the churchyard there was also wrangling. Wren wished a low fence, to leave the vestibule and the steps free and open. The commissioners thought Wren's design mean and weak, and chose the present heavy and cumbrous iron-work, which breaks up the view of the west front.

The new organ, by Father Bernard Smith, which cost £2,000, was shorn of its full size by Wren, perhaps in vexation at its misplacement. The paltry statue of Queen Anne, in the churchyard, was by Bird, and cost £1,130, exclusive of the marble, which the Queen provided. The carvings in the choir, by Grinling Gibbons, cost £1,337 7s. 5d. On some of the exterior sculpture Cibber worked.

In 1718 a violent pamphlet appeared, written, it was supposed, by one of the commissioners. It accused Wren's head workmen of pilfering timber and cracking the bells. Wren proved the charges to be malicious and untrue. The commissioners now insisted on adding a stone balustrade all round St. Paul's, in spite of Wren's protests. He condemned the addition as "contrary to the principles of architecture, and as breaking into the harmony of the whole design;" but, he said, "ladies think nothing well without an edging."

The next year, the commissioners went a step further. Wren, then eighty-six years old, and in the forty-ninth year of office, was dismissed without apology from his post of Surveyor of Public Works. The German Court, hostile to all who had served the Stuarts, appointed in his place a poor pretender, named Benson. This charlatan--now only remembered by a line in the "Dunciad," which ridicules the singular vanity of a man who erected a monument to Milton, in Westminster Abbey, and crowded the marble with his own titles--was afterwards dismissed from his surveyorship with ignominy, but had yet influence enough at Court to escape prosecution and obtain several valuable sinecures. Wren retired to his house at Hampton Court, and there sought consolation in philosophical and religious studies. Once a year, says Horace Walpole, the good old man was carried to St. Paul's, to contemplate the glorious chef-d'oeuvre of his genius. Steele, in the Tatler, refers to Wren's vexations, and attributes them to his modesty and bashfulness.

The total sum expended on the building of St. Paul's Cathedral, according to Dean Milman, was £736,752 2s. 3-1/4d.; a small residue from the coal duty was all that was left for future repairs. To this Dean Clark added about £500, part of the profits arising from an Essex estate (the gift of an old Saxon king), leased from the Dean and Chapter. The charge of the fabric was vested not in the Dean and Chapter, but in the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishop of London, and the Lord Mayor for the time being. These trustees elect the surveyor and audit the accounts.

On the accession of George I. (1715), the new king, princes, and princesses went in state to St. Paul's. Seventy years elapsed before an English king again entered Wren's cathedral. In April, 1789, George III. came to thank God for his temporary recovery from insanity. Queen Charlotte, the Prince of Wales, and the Duke of York were present, and both Houses of Parliament. Bishop Porteous preached the sermon, and 6,000 charity children joined in the service. In 1797, King George came again to attend a thanksgiving for Lord Duncan's and Lord Howe's naval victories; French, Spanish, and Dutch flags waved above the procession, and Sir Horatio Nelson was there among other heroes.

The first grave sunk in St. Paul's was fittingly that of Wren, its builder. He lies in the place of honour, the extreme east of the crypt. The black marble slab is railed in, and the light from a small window-grating falls upon the venerated name. Sir Christopher died in 1723, aged ninety-one. The fine inscription, "Si monumentum requiris, circumspice," written probably by his son, or Mylne, the builder of Blackfriars Bridge, was formerly in front of the organ-gallery, but is now placed over the north-western entrance.

The clergy of St. Paul's were for a long time jealous of allowing any monument in the cathedral. Dean Newton wished for a tomb, but it was afterwards erected in St. Mary-le-Bow. A better man than the vain, place-hunting dean was the first honoured. The earliest statue admitted was that of the benevolent Howard, who had mitigated suffering and sorrow in all the prisons of Europe; he stands at the corner of the dome facing that half-stripped athlete, Dr. Johnson, and the two are generally taken by country visitors for St. Peter and St. Paul. He who with Goldsmith had wandered through the Abbey, wondering if one day their names might not be recorded there, found a grave in Westminster, and, thanks to Reynolds, the first place of honour. Sir Joshua himself, as one of our greatest painters, took the third place, that Hogarth should have occupied; and the fourth was awarded to that great Oriental scholar, Sir William Jones. The clerical opposition was now broken through, for the world felt that the Abbey was full enough, and that St. Paul's required adorning.

Henceforward St. Paul's was chiefly set apart for naval and military heroes whom the city could best appreciate, while the poets, great writers, and statesmen were honoured in the Abbey, and laid among the old historic dead. From the beginning our sculptors resorted to pagan emblems and pagan allegorical figures; the result is that St. Paul's resembles a Pantheon of the Lower Empire, and is a hospital of third-rate art. The first naval conqueror so honoured was Rodney; Rossi received £6,000 for his cold and clumsy design; Lord Howe's statue followed; and next that of Lord Duncan, the hero of Camperdown. It is a simple statue by Westmacott, with a seaman and his wife and child on the pedestal. For Earl St. Vincent, Bailey produced a colossal statue and the usual scribbling, History and a trumpeting Victory.

Then came Nelson's brothers in arms--men of lesser mark; but the nation was grateful, and the Government was anxious to justify its wars by its victories. St. Paul's was growing less particular, and now opened its arms to the best men it could get. Many of Nelson's captains preceded him on the red road to death--Westcott, who fell at Aboukir; Mosse and Riou, who fell before Copenhagen (a far from stainless victory). Riou was the brave man whom Campbell immortalised in his fiery "Battle of the Baltic." Riou lies

"Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore."

Then at last, in 1806, came a hero worthy, indeed, of such a cathedral--Nelson himself. At what a moment had Nelson expired! At the close of a victory that had annihilated the fleets of France and Spain, and secured to Britain the empire of the seas. The whole nation that day shed tears of "pride and of sorrow." The Prince of Wales and all his brothers led the procession of nearly 8,000 soldiers, and the chief mourner was Admiral Parker (the Mutiny of the Nore Parker). Nelson's coffin was formed out of a mast of the L'Orient--a vessel blown up at the battle of the Nile, and presented to Nelson by his friend, the captain of the Swiftsure. The sarcophagus, singularly enough, had been designed by Michael Angelo's contemporary, Torreguiano, for Wolsey, in the days of his most insatiable pride, and had remained ever since in Wolsey's chapel at Windsor; Nelson's flag was to have been placed over the coffin, but as it was about to be lowered, the sailors who had borne it, as if by an irresistible impulse, stepped forward and tore it in pieces, for relics. Dean Milman, who, as a youth, was present, says, "I heard, or fancied I heard, the low wail of the sailors who encircled the remains of their admiral." Nelson's trusty companion, Lord Collingwood, who led the vanguard at Trafalgar, sleeps near his old captain, and Lord Northesk, who led the rear-guard, is buried opposite. A brass plate on the pavement under the dome marks the spot of Nelson's tomb. The monument to Nelson, inconveniently placed at the opening of the choir, is by one of our greatest sculptors--Flaxman. It is hardly worthy of the occasion, and the figures on the pedestal are puerile. Lord Lyons is the last admiral whose monument has been erected in St. Paul's.

The military heroes have been contributed by various wars, just and unjust, successful and the reverse. There is that tough old veteran, Lord Heathfield, who drove off two angry nations from the scorched rock of Gibraltar; Sir Isaac Brock, who fell near Niagara; Sir Ralph Abercromby, who perished in Egypt; and Sir John Moore, who played so well a losing game at Corunna. Cohorts of Wellington's soldiers too lie in St. Paul's--brave men, who sacrificed their lives at Talavera, Vimiera, Ciudad Rodrigo, Salamanca, Vittoria, and Bayonne. Nor has our proud and just nation disdained to honour even equally gallant men who were defeated. There are monuments in St. Paul's to the vanquished at Bergen-op-Zoom, New Orleans, and Baltimore.

That climax of victory, Waterloo, brought Ponsonby and Picton to St. Paul's. Picton lies in the vestibule of the Wellington chapel. Thirty-seven years after Waterloo, in the fulness of his years, Wellington was deservedly honoured by a tomb in St. Paul's. It was impossible to lay him beside Nelson, so the eastern chapel of the crypt was appropriated for his sarcophagus. From 12,000 to 15,000 persons were present. The impressive funeral procession, with the representatives of the various regiments, and the solemn bursts of the "Dead March of Saul" at measured intervals, can never be forgotten by those who were present. The pall was borne by the general officers who had fought by the side of Wellington, and the cathedral was illuminated for the occasion. The service was read by Dean Milman, who had been, as we have before mentioned, a spectator of Nelson's funeral. So perfectly adapted for sound is St. Paul's, that though the walls were muffled with black cloth, the Dean's voice could be heard distinctly, even up in the western gallery. The sarcophagus which holds Wellington's ashes is of massive and imperishable Cornish porphyry, grand from its perfect simplicity, and worthy of the man who, without gasconade or theatrical display, trod stedfastly the path of duty.

After Nelson and Wellington, the lesser names seem to dwindle down. Yet among the great, pure, and good, we may mention, there are some Crimean memorials. There also is the monument of Cornwallis, that good Governor-General of India; those of the two Napiers, the historian and the conqueror of Scinde, true knights both; that of Elphinstone, who twice refused the dignity of Governor-General of India; and that of the saviour of our Indian empire, Sir Henry Lawrence. Nor should we forget the monuments of two Indian bishops--the scholarly Middleton, and the excellent and lovable Heber. There is an unsatisfactory statue of Turner, by Bailey; and monuments to Dr. Babington, a London physician, and Sir Astley Cooper, the great surgeon. The ambitious monument to Viscount Melbourne, the Queen's first prime minister, by Baron Marochetti, stands in one of the alcoves of the nave; great gates of black marble represent the entrance to a tomb, guarded by two angels of white marble at the portals. More worthy than the gay Melbourne of the honour of a monument in such a place, is the historian Hallam, a calm, sometimes cold, but always impartial writer.

In the crypt near Wren lie many of our most celebrated English artists. Sir Joshua Reynolds died in 1792. His pall was borne by peers, and upwards of a hundred carriages followed his hearse. Near him lies his successor as president, West, the Quaker painter; courtly Lawrence; Barry, whom Reynolds detested; rough, clever Opie; Dance; and eccentric Fuseli. In this goodly company, also, sleeps a greater than all of these--Joseph Mallord William Turner, the first landscape painter of the world. He had requested, when dying, to be buried as near to his old master, Reynolds, as possible. It is said that Turner, soured with the world, had threatened to make his shroud out of his grand picture of "The Building of Carthage." In this consecrated spot also rests Robert Mylne, the builder of Blackfriars Bridge, and Mr. Charles Robert Cockerell, the eminent architect.

Only one robbery has occurred in modern times in St. Paul's. In December, 1810, the plate repository of the cathedral was broken open by thieves, with the connivance of, as is supposed, some official, and 1,761 ounces of plate, valued at above £2,000, were stolen. The thieves broke open nine doors to get at the treasure, which was never afterwards heard of. The spoil included the chased silver-gilt covers of the large (1640) Bible, chalices, plates, tankards, and candlesticks.

The cathedral, left colourless and blank by Wren, has never yet been finished. The Protestant choir remains in one corner, like a dry, shrivelled nut in a large shell. Like the proud snail in the fable, that took possession of the lobster-shell and starved there, we remained for more than a century complacently content with our unfurnished house. At length our tardy zeal awoke. In 1858 the Bishop of London wrote to the Dean and Chapter, urging a series of Sunday evening services, for the benefit of the floating masses of Londoners. Dean Milman replied, at once warming to the proposal, and suggested the decoration and completion of St. Paul's. The earnest appeal for "the noblest church, in its style, of Christian Europe, the masterpiece of Wren, the glory and pride of London," was at once responded to. A committee of the leading merchants and bankers was formed, including those great authorities, Sir Charles Barry, Mr. Cockerell, Mr. Tite, and Mr. Penrose. They at once resolved to gladden the eye with colour, without disturbing the solemn and harmonious simplicity. Paintings, mosaics, marble and gilding were requisite; the dome was to be relieved of Thornhill's lifeless grisailles; and above all, stained-glass windows were pronounced indispensable.

The dome had originally been filled by Thornhill with eight scenes from the life of St. Paul. He received for them the not very munificent but quite adequate sum of 40s. per square yard. They soon began to show symptoms of decay, and Mr. Parris, the painter, invented an apparatus by which they could easily be repaired, but no funds could then be found; yet when the paintings fell off in flakes, much money and labour was expended on the restoration, which has now proved useless. Mr. Penrose has shown that so ignorant was Sir James of perspective, that his painted architecture has actually the effect of making Wren's thirty-two pilasters seem to lean forward.

Much has already been done in St. Paul's. Two out of the eight large spandrel pictures round the dome are already executed. There are eventually to be four evangelists and four major prophets. Above the gilt rails of the whispering gallery an inscription on a mosaic and gold ground has been placed. A marble memorial pulpit has been put up. The screen has been removed, and the organ, greatly enlarged and improved, has been divided into two parts, which have been placed on either side of the choir, above the stalls; the dome is lighted with gas; the golden gallery, ball, and cross have been re-gilt. The great baldachino is still wanting, but nine stained-glass windows have been erected, and among the donors have been the Drapers' and Goldsmiths' Companies; there are also memorial windows to the late Bishop Blomfield and W. Cotton, Esq. The Grocers', Merchant Taylors', Goldsmiths', Mercers', and Fishmongers' Companies have generously gilt the vaults of the choir and the arches adjoining the dome. Some fifty or more windows still require stained glass. The wall panels are to be in various places adorned with inlaid marbles. It is not intended that St. Paul's should try to rival St. Peter's at Rome in exuberance of ornament, but it still requires a good deal of clothing. The great army of sable martyrs in marble have been at last washed white, and the fire-engines might now advantageously be used upon the exterior.

A few figures about the dimensions of St. Paul's will not be uninteresting. The cathedral is 2,292 feet in circumference, and the height from the nave pavement to the top of the cross is 365 feet. The height of St. Peter's at Rome being 432 feet, St. Paul's could stand inside St. Peter's. The western towers are 220 feet high. From east to west, St. Paul's is 500 feet long, while St. Peter's is 669 feet. The cupola is considered by many as more graceful than that of St. Peter's, "though in its connection with the church by an order higher than that below it there is a violation of the laws of the art." The external appearance of St. Paul's rivals, if not excels, that of St. Peter's, but the inside is much inferior. The double portico of St. Paul's has been greatly censured. The commissioners insisted on twelve columns, as emblematical of the twelve apostles, and Wren could not obtain stones of sufficient size; but (as Mr. Gwilt observes) it would have been better to have had joined pillars rather than a Composite heaped on a Corinthian portico. In the tympanum is the Conversion of St. Paul, sculptured in high relief by Bird; on the apex is a colossal figure of St. Paul, and on the right and left are St. Peter and St. James. Over the southern portico is sculptured the Phoenix; over the north are the royal arms and regalia, while on each side stand on guard five statues of the apostles. The ascent to the whispering gallery is by 260 steps, to the outer and highest golden gallery 560 steps, and to the ball 616 steps. The outer golden gallery is at the summit of the dome. The inner golden gallery is at the base of the lantern. Through this the ascent is by ladders to the small dome, immediately below the inverted consoles which support the ball and cross. Ascending through the cross iron-work in the centre, you look into the dark ball, which is said to weigh 5,600 pounds; thence to the cross, which weighs 3,360 pounds, and is 30 feet high. In 1821-2 Mr. Cockerell removed for a time the ball and cross.

From the haunches of the dome, says Mr. Gwilt, 200 feet above the pavement of the church, another cone of brickwork commences, 85 feet high and 94 feet diameter at the bottom. This cone is pierced with apertures, as well for the purpose of diminishing its weight as for distributing the light between it and the outer dome. At the top it is gathered into a dome in the form of a hyperboloid, pierced near the vertex with an aperture 12 feet in diameter. The top of this cone is 285 feet from the pavement, and carries a lantern 55 feet high, terminating in a dome whereon a ball and (Aveline) cross is raised. The last-named cone is provided with corbels, sufficient in number to receive the hammer-beams of the external dome, which is of oak, and its base 220 feet from the pavement, its summit being level with the top of the cone. In form it is nearly hemispherical, and generated by radii 57 feet in length, whose centres are in a horizontal diameter passing through its base. The cone and the interior dome are restrained in their lateral thrust on the supports by four tiers of strong iron chains (weighing 95 cwt. 3 qrs. 23 lbs.), placed in grooves prepared for their reception, and run with lead. The lowest of these is inserted in masonry round their common base, and the other three at different heights on the exterior of the cone. Over the intersection of the nave and transepts for the external work, and for a height of 25 feet above the roof of the church, a cylindrical wall rises, whose diameter is 146 feet. Between it and the lower conical wall is a space, but at intervals they are connected by cross-walls. This cylinder is quite plain, but perforated by two courses of rectangular apertures. On it stands a peristyle of thirty columns of the Corinthian order, 40 feet high, including bases and capitals, with a plain entablature crowned by a balustrade. In this peristyle every fourth intercolumniation is filled up solid, with a niche, and connection is provided between it and the wall of the lower cone. Vertically over the base of that cone, above the peristyle, rises another cylindrical wall, appearing above the balustrade. It is ornamented with pilasters, between which are two tiers of rectangular windows. From this wall the external dome springs. The lantern receives no support from it. It is merely ornamental, differing entirely, in that respect, from the dome of St. Peter's.

In 1822 Mr. Horner passed the summer in the lantern, sketching the metropolis; he afterwards erected an observatory several feet higher than the cross, and made sketches for a panorama on a surface of 1,680 feet of drawing paper. From these sheets was painted a panorama of London and the environs, first exhibited at the Colosseum, in Regent's Park, in 1829. The view from St. Paul's extends for twenty miles round. On the south the horizon is bounded by Leith Hill. In high winds the scaffold used to creak and whistle like a ship labouring in a storm, and once the observatory was torn from its lashings and turned partly over on the edge of the platform. The sight and sounds of awaking London are said to have much impressed the artist.

On entering the cathedral, says Mr. Horner, at three in the morning, the stillness which then prevailed in the streets of this populous city, contrasted with their midday bustle, was only surpassed by the more solemn and sepulchral stillness of the cathedral itself. But not less impressive was the development at that early hour of the immense scene from its lofty summit, whence was frequently beheld "the forest of London," without any indication of animated existence. It was interesting to mark the gradual symptoms of returning life, until the rising sun vivified the whole into activity, bustle, and business. On one occasion the night was passed in the observatory, for the purpose of meeting the first glimpse of day; but the cold was so intense as to preclude any wish to repeat the experiment.

Mr. Horner, in his narrative, mentions a narrow escape of Mr. Gwyn, while engaged in measuring the top of the dome for a sectional drawing he was making of the cathedral. While absorbed in his work Mr. Gwyn slipped down the globular surface of the dome till his foot stopped on a projecting lump of lead. In this awful situation, like a man hanging to the moon, he remained till one of his assistants providentially saw and rescued him.

The following was, if possible, an even narrower escape:--When Sir James Thornhill was painting the cupola of St. Paul's Cathedral, a gentleman of his acquaintance was one day with him on the scaffolding, which, though wide, was not railed; he had just finished the head of one of the apostles, and running back, as is usual with painters, to observe the effect, had almost reached the extremity; the gentleman, seeing his danger, and not having time for words, snatched up a large brush and smeared the face. Sir James ran hastily forward, crying out, "Bless my soul, what have you done?" "I have only saved your life!" responded his friend.

Sir James Thornhill was the son of a reduced Dorsetshire gentleman. His uncle, the well-known physician, Dr. Sydenham, helped to educate him. He travelled to see the old masters, and on his return Queen Anne appointed him to paint the dome of St. Paul's. He was considered to have executed the work, in the eight panels, "in a noble manner." "He afterwards," says Pilkington, "executed several public works--painting, at Hampton Court, the Queen and Prince George of Denmark, allegorically; and in the chapel of All Souls, Oxford, the portrait of the founder, over the altar the ceiling, and figures between the windows. His masterpiece is the refectory and saloon at Greenwich Hospital. He was knighted by George II. He died May 4, 1734, leaving a son, John, who became serjeant painter to the king, and a daughter, who married Hogarth. He was a well-made and pleasant man, and sat in Parliament for some years."

The cathedral was artificially secured from lightning, according to the suggestion of the Royal Society, in 1769. The seven iron scrolls supporting the ball and cross are connected with other rods (used merely as conductors), which unite them with several large bars descending obliquely to the stone-work of the lantern, and connected by an iron ring with four other iron bars to the lead covering of the great cupola, a distance of forty-eight feet; thence the communication is continued by the rain-water pipes, which pass into the earth, thus completing the entire communication from the cross to the ground, partly through iron and partly through lead. On the clock-tower a bar of iron connects the pine-apple on the top with the iron staircase, and thence with the lead on the roof of the church. The bell-tower is similarly protected. By these means the metal used in the building is made available as conductors, the metal employed merely for that purpose being exceedingly small in quantity.

In 1841 the exterior of the dome was repaired by workmen resting upon a shifting iron frame. In 1848 a scaffold and observatory, as shown on page 258, were raised round the cross, and in three months some four thousand observations were made for a new trigonometrical survey of London.

Harting, in his "Birds of Middlesex," mentions the peregrine falcons of St. Paul's. "A pair of these birds," he says, "for many years frequented the top of St. Paul's, where it was supposed they had a nest; and a gentleman with whom I am acquainted has assured me that a friend of his once saw a peregrine strike down a pigeon in London, his attention having been first attracted by seeing a crowd of persons gazing upwards at the hawk as it sailed in circles over the houses." A pair frequenting the buildings at Westminster is referred to in "Annals of an Eventful Life," by G.W. Dasent, D.C.L.

A few nooks and corners of the cathedral have still escaped us. The library in the gallery over the southern aisle was formed by Bishop Compton, and consists of some 7,000 volumes, including some manuscripts from old St. Paul's. The room contains some loosely hung flowers, exquisitely carved in wood by Grinling Gibbons, and the floor is composed of 2,300 pieces of oak, inlaid without nails or pegs. At the end of the gallery is a geometrical staircase of 110 steps, which was constructed by Wren to furnish a private access to the library. In crossing thence to the northern gallery, there is a fine view of the entire vista of the cathedral. The model-room used to contain Wren's first design, and some tattered flags once hung beneath the dome. Wren's noble model, we regret to learn, is "a ruin, after one hundred and forty years of neglect," the funds being insufficient for its repair. A staircase from the southern gallery leads to the south-western campanile tower, in which is the clock-room. The clock, which cost £300, was made by Langley Bradley in 1708. The minute-hands are 9 feet 8 inches long, and weigh 75 pounds each. The pendulum is 16 feet long, and the bob weighs 180 pounds, and yet is suspended by a spring no thicker than a shilling. The clock goes eight days, and strikes the hours on the great bell, the clapper of which weighs 180 pounds. Below the great bell are two smaller bells, on which the clock strikes the quarters. In the northern tower is the bell that tolls for prayers. Mr. E.B. Denison pronounced the St. Paul's bell, although the smallest, as by far the best of the four large bells of England--York, Lincoln, and Oxford being the other three.

The great bell of St. Paul's (about five tons) has a diameter of nine feet, and weighs 11,474 pounds. It was cast from the metal of Great Tom (Ton), a bell that once hung in a clock tower opposite Westminster Hall. It was given away in 1698 by William III., and bought for St. Paul's for £385 17s. 6d. It was re-cast in 1716. The keynote (tonic) or sound of this bell is A flat--perhaps A natural--of the old pitch. It is never tolled but at the death or funeral of any of the Royal Family, the Bishop of London, the Dean, or the Lord Mayor, should he die during his mayoralty.

It was not this bell, but the Westminster Great Tom, which the sentinel on duty during the reign of William III. declared he heard strike thirteen instead of twelve at midnight; and the truth of the fact was deposed to by several persons, and the life of the poor soldier, sentenced to death for having fallen asleep upon his post, was thus saved. The man's name was Hatfield. He died in 1770 in Aldersgate, aged 102 years.

Before the time of the present St. Paul's, and as long ago as the reign of Henry VII., there is on record a well-attested story of a young girl who, going to confess, was importuned by the monk then on his turn there for the purpose of confession in the building; and quickly escaping from him up the stairs of the great clock tower, raised the clapper or hammer of the bell of the clock, just as it had finished striking twelve, and, by means of the roof, eluded her assailant and got away. On accusing him, as soon as she reached her friends and home, she called attention to the fact of the clock having struck thirteen that time; and on those in the immediate neighbourhood of the cathedral being asked if so unusual a thing had been heard, they said it was so. This proved the story, and the monk was degraded.

And here we must insert a curious story of a monomaniac whose madness was associated with St. Paul's. Dr. Pritchard, in an essay on "Somnambulism and Animal Magnetism," in the "Cyclopædia of Medicine," gives the following remarkable case of ecstasis:--

A gentleman about thirty-five years of age, of active habits and good constitution, living in the neighbourhood of London, had complained for about five weeks of a slight headache. He was feverish, inattentive to his occupation, and negligent of his family. He had been cupped, and taken some purgative medicine, when he was visited by Dr. Arnould, of Camberwell. By that gentleman's advice, he was sent to a private asylum, where he remained about two years. His delusions very gradually subsided, and he was afterwards restored to his family. The account which he gave of himself was, almost verbatim as follows:--One afternoon in the month of May, feeling himself a little unsettled, and not inclined to business, he thought he would take a walk into the City to amuse his mind; and having strolled into St. Paul's Churchyard, he stopped at the shop-window of Carrington and Bowles, and looked at the pictures, among which was one of the cathedral. He had not been long there before a short, grave-looking, elderly gentleman, dressed in dark brown clothes, came up and began to examine the prints, and, occasionally casting a glance at him, very soon entered into conversation with him; and, praising the view of St. Paul's which was exhibited at the window, told him many anecdotes of Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, and asked him at the same time if he had ever ascended to the top of the dome. He replied in the negative. The stranger then inquired if he had dined, and proposed that they should go to an eating-house in the neighbourhood, and said that after dinner he would accompany him up St. Paul's. "It was a glorious afternoon for a view, and he was so familiar with the place that he could point out every object worthy of attention." The kindness of the old gentleman's manner induced him to comply with the invitation, and they went to a tavern in some dark alley, the name of which he did not know. They dined, and very soon left the table and ascended to the ball, just below the cross, which they entered alone. They had not been there many minutes when, while he was gazing on the extensive prospect, and delighted with the splendid scene below him, the grave gentleman pulled out from an inside coat-pocket something resembling a compass, having round the edges some curious figures. Then, having muttered some unintelligible words, he placed it in the centre of the ball. He felt a great trembling and a sort of horror come over him, which was increased by his companion asking him if he should like to see any friend at a distance, and to know what he was at that moment doing, for if so the latter could show him any such person. It happened that his father had been for a long time in bad health, and for some weeks past he had not visited him. A sudden thought came into his mind, so powerful that it overcame his terror, that he should like to see his father. He had no sooner expressed the wish than the exact person of his father was immediately presented to his sight in the mirror, reclining in his arm-chair and taking his afternoon sleep. Not having fully believed in the power of the stranger to make good his offer, he became overwhelmed with terror at the clearness and truth of the vision presented to him, and he entreated his mysterious companion that they might immediately descend, as he felt very ill. The request was complied with, and on parting under the portico of the northern entrance the stranger said to him, "Remember, you are the slave of the Man of the Mirror!" He returned in the evening to his home, he does not know exactly at what hour; felt himself unquiet, depressed, gloomy, apprehensive, and haunted with thoughts of the stranger. For the last three months he has been conscious of the power of the latter over him. Dr. Arnould adds:--"I inquired in what way his power was exercised. He cast on me a look of suspicion, mingled with confidence, took my arm, and after leading me through two or three rooms, and then into the garden, exclaimed, 'It is of no use; there is no concealment from him, for all places are alike open to him; he sees us and he hears us now.' I asked him where this being was who saw and heard us. He replied, in a voice of deep agitation, 'Have I not told you that he lives in the ball below the cross on the top of St. Paul's, and that he only comes down to take a walk in the churchyard and get his dinner at the house in the dark alley? Since that fatal interview with the necromancer,' he continued, 'for such I believe him to be, he is continually dragging me before him on his mirror, and he not only sees me every moment of the day, but he reads all my thoughts, and I have a dreadful consciousness that no action of my life is free from his inspection, and no place can afford me security from his power.' On my replying that the darkness of the night would afford him protection from these machinations, he said, 'I know what you mean, but you are quite mistaken. I have only told you of the mirror; but in some part of the building which we passed in coming away, he showed me what he called a great bell, and I heard sounds which came from it, and which went to it--sounds of laughter, and of anger, and of pain. There was a dreadful confusion of sounds, and as I listened, with wonder and affright, he said, 'This is my organ of hearing; this great bell is in communication with all other bells within the circle of hieroglyphics, by which every word spoken by those under my command is made audible to me.' Seeing me look surprised at him, he said, 'I have not yet told you all, for he practises his spells by hieroglyphics on walls and houses, and wields his power, like a detestable tyrant, as he is, over the minds of those whom he has enchanted, and who are the objects of his constant spite, within the circle of the hieroglyphics.' I asked him what these hieroglyphics were, and how he perceived them. He replied, 'Signs and symbols which you, in your ignorance of their true meaning, have taken for letters and words, and read, as you have thought, "Day and Martin's and Warren's blacking."' 'Oh! that is all nonsense!' 'They are only the mysterious characters which he traces to mark the boundary of his dominion, and by which he prevents all escape from his tremendous power. How have I toiled and laboured to get beyond the limit of his influence! Once I walked for three days and three nights, till I fell down under a wall, exhausted by fatigue, and dropped asleep; but on awakening I saw the dreadful signs before mine eyes, and I felt myself as completely under his infernal spells at the end as at the beginning of my journey.'"

It is probable that this gentleman had actually ascended to the top of St. Paul's, and that impressions there received, being afterwards renewed in his mind when in a state of vivid excitement, in a dream of ecstatic reverie, became so blended with the creations of fancy as to form one mysterious vision, in which the true and the imaginary were afterwards inseparable. Such, at least, is the best explanation of the phenomena which occurs to us.

In 1855 the fees for seeing St. Paul's completely were 4s. 4d. each person. In 1847 the mere twopences paid to see the forty monuments produced the four vergers the sum of £430 3s. 8d. These exorbitant fees originated in the "stairs-foot money" started by Jennings, the carpenter, in 1707, as a fund for the injured during the building of the cathedral.

The staff of the cathedral consists of the dean, the precentor, the chancellor, the treasurer, the five archdeacons of London, Middlesex, Essex, Colchester, and St. Albans, thirty major canons or prebendaries (four of whom are resident), twelve minor canons, and six vicars-choral, besides the choristers. One of the vicars-choral officiates as organist, and three of the minor canons hold the appointments of sub-dean, librarian, and succentor, or under-precentor.

Three of the most celebrated men connected with St. Paul's in the last century have been Milman, Sydney Smith, and Barham (the author of "Ingoldsby Legends"). Smith and Barham both died in 1845.

Of Sydney Smith's connection with St. Paul's we have many interesting records. One of the first things Lord Grey said on entering Downing Street, to a relation who was with him, was, "Now I shall be able to do something for Sydney Smith," and shortly after he was appointed by the Premier to a prebendal stall at St. Paul's, in exchange for the one he held at Bristol.

Mr. Cockerell, the architect, and superintendent of St. Paul's Cathedral, in a letter printed in Lady Holland's "Memoir," describes the gesta of the canon residentiary; how his early communications with himself (Mr. C.) and all the officers of the chapter were extremely unpleasant; but when the canon had investigated the matter, and there had been "a little collision," nothing could be more candid and kind than his subsequent treatment. He examined the prices of all the materials used in the repairs of the cathedral--as Portland stone, putty, and white lead; every item was taxed, payments were examined, and nothing new could be undertaken without his survey and personal superintendence. He surveyed the pinnacles and heights of the sacred edifice; and once, when it was feared he might stick fast in a narrow opening of the western towers, he declared that "if there were six inches of space there would be room enough for him." The insurance of the magnificent cathedral, Mr. Cockerell tells us, engaged his early attention; St. Paul's was speedily and effectually insured in some of the most substantial offices in London. Not satisfied with this security, he advised the introduction of the mains of the New River into the lower parts of the fabric, and cisterns and movable engines in the roof; and quite justifiable was his joke, that "he would reproduce the Deluge in our cathedral."

He had also the library heated by a stove, so as to be more comfortable to the studious; and the bindings of the books were repaired. Lastly, Mr. Smith materially assisted the progress of a suit in Chancery, by the successful result of which a considerable addition was made to the fabric fund.

It is very gratifying to read these circumstantial records of the practical qualities of Mr. Sydney Smith, as applied to the preservation of our magnificent metropolitan cathedral.

Before we leave Mr. Smith we may record an odd story of Lady B. calling the vergers "virgins." She asked Mr. Smith, one day, if it was true that he walked down St. Paul's with three virgins holding silver pokers before him. He shook his head and looked very grave, and bade her come and see. "Some enemy of the Church," he said, "some Dissenter, had clearly been misleading her."

Let us recapitulate a few of the English poets who have made special allusions to St. Paul's in their writings. Denham says of the restoration of St. Paul's, began by Charles I.:--

"First salutes the place, Crowned with that sacred pile, so vast, so high, That whether 'tis a part of earth or sky Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud Aspiring mountain or descending cloud. Paul's, the late theme of such a muse, whose flight Has bravely reached and soared above thy height, Now shalt thou stand, though sword, or time, or fire, Or zeal more fierce than they, thy fall conspire; Secure, while thee the best of poets sings, Preserved from ruin by the best of kings."

Byron, in the Tenth Canto of "Don Juan," treats St. Paul's contemptuously--sneering, as was his affectation, at everything, human or divine:--

"A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dim cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head--and there is London Town!"

Among other English poets who have sung of St. Paul's, we must not forget Tom Hood, with his delightfully absurd ode, written on the cross, and full of most wise folly:--

"The man that pays his pence and goes Up to thy lofty cross, St. Paul's, Looks over London's naked nose, Women and men; The world is all beneath his ken; He sits above the ball, He seems on Mount Olympus' top, Among the gods, by Jupiter! and lets drop His eyes from the empyreal clouds On mortal crowds.

"Seen from these skies, How small those emmets in our eyes! Some carry little sticks, and one His eggs, to warm them in the sun; Dear, what a hustle And bustle! And there's my aunt! I know her by her waist, So long and thin, And so pinch'd in, Just in the pismire taste.

"Oh, what are men! Beings so small That, should I fall, Upon their little heads, I must Crush them by hundreds into dust.

"And what is life and all its ages! There's seven stages! Turnham Green! Chelsea! Putney! Fulham! Brentford and Kew! And Tooting, too! And, oh, what very little nags to pull 'em! Yet each would seem a horse indeed, If here at Paul's tip-top we'd got 'em! Although, like Cinderella's breed, They're mice at bottom. Then let me not despise a horse, Though he looks small from Paul's high cross; Since he would be, as near the sky, Fourteen hands high.

"What is this world with London in its lap? Mogg's map. The Thames that ebbs and flows in its broad channel? A tidy kennel! The bridges stretching from its banks? Stone planks. Oh, me! Hence could I read an admonition To mad Ambition! But that he would not listen to my call, Though I should stand upon the cross, and ball!"

We can hardly close our account of St. Paul's without referring to that most beautiful and touching of all London sights, the anniversary of the charity schools on the first Thursday in June. About 8,000 children are generally present, ranged in a vast amphitheatre under the dome. Blake, the true but unrecognised predecessor of Wordsworth, has written an exquisite little poem on the scene, and well it deserves it. Such nosegays of little rosy faces can be seen on no other day. Very grand and overwhelming are the beadles of St. Mary Axe and St. Margaret Moses on this tremendous morning, and no young ensign ever bore his colours prouder than do these good-natured dignitaries their maces, staves, and ponderous badges. In endless ranks pour in the children, clothed in all sorts of quaint dresses. Boys in the knee-breeches of Hogarth's school-days, bearing glittering pewter badges on their coats; girls in blue and orange, with quaint little mob-caps white as snow, and long white gloves covering all their little arms. See, at a given signal of an extraordinary fugleman, how they all rise; at another signal how they hustle down. Then at last, when the "Old Hundredth" begins, all the little voices unite as the blending of many waters. Such fresh, happy voices, singing with such innocent, heedful tenderness as would bring tears to the eyes of even stony-hearted old Malthus, bring to the most irreligious thoughts of Him who bade little children come to Him, and would not have them repulsed.

Blake's poem begins--

"'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, Came children walking two and two, in red and blue and green; Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow.

"Oh, what a multitude they seemed, those flowers of London town; Seated in companies they were, with radiance all their own; The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls, raising their innocent hands.

"Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among; Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor; Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door."

The anniversary Festival of the Sons of the Clergy, in the middle of May, when the choirs of Westminster and the Chapel Royal sing selections from Handel and other great masters, is also a day not easily to be forgotten, for St. Paul's is excellent for sound, and the fine music rises like incense to the dome, and lingers there as "loth to die," arousing thoughts that, as Wordsworth beautifully says, are in themselves proofs of our immortality. It is on such occasions we feel how great a genius reared St. Paul's, and cry out with the poet--

"He thought not of a perishable home Who thus could build."

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXII. ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD

St. Paul's Churchyard and Literature--Queen Anne's Statue--Execution of a Jesuit in St. Paul's Churchyard--Miracle of the "Face in the Straw"--Wilkinson's Story--Newbery the Bookseller--Paul's Chain--"Cocker"--Chapter House of St. Paul's--St. Paul's Coffee House--Child's Coffee House and the Clergy--Garrick's Club at the "Queen's Arms," and the Company there--"Sir Benjamin" Figgins--Johnson the Bookseller--Hunter and his Guests--Fuseli--Bonnycastle--Kinnaird--Musical Associations of the Churchyard--Jeremiah Clark and his Works--Handel at Meares' Shop--Young the Violin Maker--The "Castle" Concerts--An Old Advertisement--Wren at the "Goose and Gridiron"--St. Paul's School--Famous Paulines--Pepys visiting his Old School--Milton at St. Paul's.

The shape of St. Paul's Churchyard has been compared to that of a bow and a string. The south side is the bow, the north the string. The booksellers overflowing from Fleet Street mustered strong here, till the Fire scared them off to Little Britain, from whence they regurgitated to the Row. At the sign of the "White Greyhound" the first editions of Shakespeare's "Venus and Adonis" and "The Rape of Lucrece," the first-fruits of a great harvest, were published by John Harrison. At the "Flower de Luce" and the "Crown" appeared the Merry Wives of Windsor; at the "Green Dragon," in the same locality, the Merchant of Venice; at the "Fox," Richard II.; at the "Angel," Richard III.; at the "Gun," Titus Andronicus; and at the "Red Bull," that masterpiece, King Lear. So that in this area near the Row the great poet must have paced with his first proofs in his doublet-pocket, wondering whether he should ever rival Spenser, or become immortal, like Chaucer. Here he must have come smiling over Falstaff's perils, and here have walked with the ripened certainty of greatness and of fame stirring at his heart.

The ground-plot of the Cathedral is 2 acres 16 perches 70 feet. The western area of the churchyard marks the site of St. Gregory's Church. On the mean statue of Queen Anne a scurrilous epigram was once written by some ribald Jacobite, who spoke of the queen--

"With her face to the brandy-shop and her back to the church."

The precinct wall of St. Paul's first ran from Ave Maria Lane eastward along Paternoster Row to the old Exchange, Cheapside, and then southwards to Carter Lane, at the end of which it turned to Ludgate Archway. In the reign of Edward II. the Dean and Chapter, finding the precinct a resort of thieves and courtesans, rebuilt and purified it. Within, at the north-west corner, stood the bishop's palace, beyond which, eastward, was Pardon Churchyard and Becket Chapel, rebuilt with a stately cloister in the reign of Henry V. On the walls of this cloister, pulled down by the greedy Protector Somerset (Edward VI.), was painted one of those grim Dances of Death which Holbein at last carried to perfection. The cloister was full of monuments, and above was a library. In an enclosure east of this stood the College of Minor Canons; and at Canon Alley, east, was a burial chapel called the Charnel, from whence Somerset sent cart-loads of bones to Finsbury Fields. East of Canon Alley stood Paul's Cross, where open-air sermons were preached to the citizens, and often to the reigning monarch. East of it rose St. Paul's School and a belfrey tower, in which hung the famous Jesus bells, won at dice by Sir Giles Partridge from that Ahab of England, Henry VIII. On the south side stood the Dean and Chapter's garden, dormitory, refectory, kitchen, slaughterhouse, and brewery. These eventually yielded to a cloister, near which, abutting on the cathedral wall, stood the chapter-house and the Church of St. Gregory. Westward were the houses of the residentiaries; and the deanery, according to Milman, an excellent authority, stood on its present site. The precinct had six gates--the first and chief in Ludgate Street; the second in Paul's Alley, leading to Paternoster Row; the third in Canon Alley, leading to the north door; the fourth, a little gate leading to Cheapside; the fifth, the Augustine gate, leading to Watling Street; the sixth, on the south side, by Paul's Chain. On the south tower of the west front was the Lollard's Tower, a bishop's prison for ecclesiastical offenders.

The 2,500 railings of the churchyard and the seven ornamental gates, weighing altogether two hundred tons, were cast in Kent, and cost 6d. a pound. The whole cost £11,202 0s. 6d.

In 1606 St. Paul's Churchyard was the scene of the execution of Father Garnet, one of the Gunpowder Plot conspirators--the only execution, as far as we know, that ever desecrated that spot. It is very doubtful, after all, whether Garnet was cognizant that the plot was really to be carried out, though he may have strongly suspected some dangerous and deadly conspiracy, and the Roman Catholics were prepared to see miracles wrought at his death.

On the 3rd day of May, 1606 (to condense Dr. Abbott's account), Garnet was drawn upon a hurdle, according to the usual practice, to his place of execution. The Recorder of London, the Dean of St. Paul's, and the Dean of Winchester were present, by command of the King--the former in the King's name, and the two latter in the name of God and Christ, to assist Garnet with such advice as suited the condition of a dying man. As soon as he had ascended the scaffold, which was much elevated in order that the people might behold the spectacle, Garnet saluted the Recorder somewhat familiarly, who told him that "it was expected from him that he should publicly deliver his real opinion respecting the conspiracy and treason; that it was now of no use to dissemble, as all was clearly and manifestly proved; but that if, in the true spirit of repentance, he was willing to satisfy the Christian world by declaring his hearty compunction, he might freely state what he pleased." The deans then told him that they were present on that occasion by authority, in order to suggest to him such matters as might be useful for his soul; that they desired to do this without offence, and exhorted him to prepare and settle himself for another world, and to commence his reconciliation with God by a sincere and saving repentance. To this exhortation Garnet replied "that he had already done so, and that he had before satisfied himself in this respect." The clergymen then suggested "that he would do well to declare his mind to the people." Then Garnet said to those near him, "I always disapproved of tumults and seditions against the king, and if this crime of the powder treason had been completed I should have abhorred it with my whole soul and conscience." They then advised him to declare as much to the people. "I am very weak," said he, "and my voice fails me. If I should speak to the people, I cannot make them hear me; it is impossible that they should hear me." Then said Mr. Recorder, "Mr. Garnet, if you will come with me, I will take care that they shall hear you," and, going before him, led him to the western end of the scaffold. He still hesitated to address the people, but the Recorder urged him to speak his mind freely, promising to repeat his words aloud to the multitude. Garnet then addressed the crowd as follows:--"My good fellow-citizens,--I am come hither, on the morrow of the invention of the Holy Cross, to see an end of all my pains and troubles in this world. I here declare before you all that I consider the late treason and conspiracy against the State to be cruel and detestable; and, for my part, all designs and endeavours against the king were ever misliked by me; and if this attempt had been perfected, as it was designed, I think it would have been altogether damnable; and I pray for all prosperity to the king, the queen, and the royal family." Here he paused, and the Recorder reminded him to ask pardon of the King for that which he had attempted. "I do so," said Garnet, "as far as I have sinned against him--namely, in that I did not reveal that whereof I had a general knowledge from Mr. Catesby, but not otherwise." Then said the Dean of Winchester, "Mr. Garnet, I pray you deal clearly in the matter: you were certainly privy to the whole business." "God forbid!" said Garnet; "I never understood anything of the design of blowing up the Parliament House." "Nay," responded the Dean of Winchester, "it is manifest that all the particulars were known to you, and you have declared under your own hand that Greenaway told you all the circumstances in Essex." "That," said Garnet, "was in secret confession, which I could by no means reveal." Then said the Dean, "You have yourself, Mr. Garnet, almost acknowledged that this was only a pretence, for you have openly confessed that Greenaway told you not in a confession, but by way of a confession, and that he came of purpose to you with the design of making a confession; but you answered that it was not necessary you should know the full extent of his knowledge." The dean further reminded him that he had affirmed under his own hand that this was not told him by way of confessing a sin, but by way of conference and consultation; and that Greenaway and Catesby both came to confer with him upon that business, and that as often as he saw Greenaway he would ask him about that business because it troubled him. "Most certainly," said Garnet; "I did so in order to prevent it, for I always misliked it." Then said the Dean, "You only withheld your approbation until the Pope had given his opinion." "But I was well persuaded," said Garnet, "that the Pope would never approve the design." "Your intention," said the Dean of Winchester, "was clear from those two breves which you received from Rome for the exclusion of the King." "That," said Garnet, "was before the King came in." "But if you knew nothing of the particulars of the business," said the Dean, "why did you send Baynham to inform the Pope? for this also you have confessed in your examinations." Garnet replied, "I have already answered to all these matters on my trial, and I acknowledge everything that is contained in my written confessions."

Then, turning his discourse again to the people, at the instance of the Recorder, he proceeded to the same effect as before, declaring "that he wholly misliked that cruel and inhuman design, and that he had never sanctioned or approved of any such attempts against the King and State, and that this project, if it had succeeded, would have been in his mind most damnable."

Having thus spoken, he raised his hands, and made the sign of the cross upon his forehead and breast, saying, "In nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti! Jesus Maria! Maria, mater gratiæ! Mater misericordiæ! Tu me ab hoste protege, et hora mortis suscipe!" Then he said, "In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum, quia tu redemisti me, Domine, Deus veritatis!" Then, again crossing himself, he said, "Per crucis hoc signum fugiat procul omne malignum! Infige crucem tuam, Domine, in corde meo;" and again, "Jesus Maria! Maria, mater gratiæ!" In the midst of these prayers the ladder was drawn away, and, by the express command of the King, he remained hanging from the gallows until he was quite dead.

The "face in the straw" was a miracle said to be performed at Garnet's death.

The original fabricator of the miracle of the straw was one John Wilkinson, a young Roman Catholic, who at the time of Garnet's trial and execution was about to pass over into France, to commence his studies at the Jesuits' College at St. Omer's. Some time after his arrival there, Wilkinson was attacked by a dangerous disease, from which there was no hope of his recovery; and while in this state he gave utterance to the story, which Endæmon-Joannes relates in his own words, as follows:--"The day before Father Garnet's execution my mind was suddenly impressed (as by some external impulse) with a strong desire to witness his death, and bring home with me some relic of him. I had at that time conceived so certain a persuasion that my design would be gratified, that I did not for a moment doubt that I should witness some immediate testimony from God in favour of the innocence of his saint; though as often as the idea occurred to my mind, I endeavoured to drive it away, that I might not vainly appear to tempt Providence by looking for a miracle where it was not necessarily to be expected. Early the next morning I betook myself to the place of execution, and, arriving there before any other person, stationed myself close to the scaffold, though I was afterwards somewhat forced from my position as the crowd increased." Having then described the details of the execution, he proceeds thus:--"Garnet's limbs having been divided into four parts, and placed, together with the head, in a basket, in order that they might be exhibited, according to law, in some conspicuous place, the crowd began to disperse. I then again approached close to the scaffold, and stood between the cart and place of execution; and as I lingered in that situation, still burning with the desire of bearing away some relic, that miraculous ear of straw, since so highly celebrated, came, I know not how, into my hand. A considerable quantity of dry straw had been thrown with Garnet's head and quarters into the basket, but whether this ear came into my hand from the scaffold or from the basket I cannot venture to affirm; this only I can truly say, that a straw of this kind was thrown towards me before it had touched the ground. This straw I afterwards delivered to Mrs. N----, a matron of singular Catholic piety, who inclosed it in a bottle, which being rather shorter than the straw, it became slightly bent. A few days afterwards Mrs. N---- showed the straw in a bottle to a certain noble person, her intimate acquaintance, who, looking at it attentively, at length said, 'I can see nothing in it but a man's face.' Mrs. N---- and myself being astonished at this unexpected exclamation, again and again examined the ear of the straw, and distinctly perceived in it a human countenance, which others also, coming in as casual spectators, or expressly called by us as witnesses, likewise beheld at that time. This is, as God knoweth, the true history of Father Garnet's straw." The engraving upon the preceding page is taken from Abbot's "Anthologia," published in 1613, in which a full account of the "miracle" is given.

At 65, St. Paul's Churchyard, north-west corner, lived the worthy predecessor of Messrs. Grant and Griffith, Goldsmith's friend and employer, Mr. John Newbery, that good-natured man with the red-pimpled face, who, as the philanthropic bookseller, figures pleasantly in the "Vicar of Wakefield;" always in haste to be gone, he was ever on business of the utmost importance, and was at that time actually compiling materials for the history of one Thomas Trip. "The friend of all mankind," Dr. Primrose calls him. "The honestest man in the nation," as Goldsmith said of him in a doggerel riddle which he wrote. Newbery's nephew printed the "Vicar of Wakefield" for Goldsmith, and the elder Newbery published the "Traveller," the corner-stone of Goldsmith's fame. It was the elder Newbery who unearthed the poet at his miserable lodgings in Green Arbour Court, and employed him to write his "Citizens of the World," at a guinea each, for his daily newspaper, the Public Ledger (1760). The Newberys seem to have been worthy, prudent tradesmen, constantly vexed and irritated at Goldsmith's extravagance, carelessness, and ceaseless cry for money; and so it went on till the hare-brained, delightful fellow died, when Francis Newbery wrote a violent defence of the fever medicine, an excess of which had killed Goldsmith.

The office of the Registrar of the High Court of Admiralty occupied the site of the old cathedral bakehouse. Paul's Chain is so called from a chain that used to be drawn across the carriage-way of the churchyard, to preserve silence during divine service. The northern barrier of St. Paul's is of wood. Opposite the Chain, in 1660 (the Restoration), lived that king of writing and arithmetic masters, the man whose name has grown into a proverb--Edward Cocker--who wrote "The Pen's Transcendancy," an extraordinary proof of true eye and clever hand.

In the Chapter House of St. Paul's, which Mr. Peter Cunningham not too severely calls "a shabby, dingy-looking building," on the north side of the churchyard, was performed the unjust ceremony of degrading Samuel Johnson, the chaplain to William Lord Russell, the martyr of the party of liberty. The divines present, in compassion, and with a prescient eye for the future, purposely omitted to strip off his cassock, which rendered the ceremony imperfect, and afterwards saved the worthy man his benefice.

St. Paul's Coffee House stood at the corner of the archway of Doctors' Commons, on the site of "Paul's Brew House" and the "Paul's Head" tavern. Here, in 1721, the books of the great collector, Dr. Rawlinson, were sold, "after dinner;" and they sold well.

Child's Coffee House, in St. Paul's Churchyard, was a quiet place, much frequented by the clergy of Queen Anne's reign, and by proctors from Doctors' Commons. Addison used to look in there, to smoke a pipe and listen, behind his paper, to the conversation. In the Spectator, No. 609, he smiles at a country gentleman who mistook all persons in scarves for doctors of divinity. This was at a time when clergymen always wore their black gowns in public. "Only a scarf of the first magnitude," he says, "entitles one to the appellation of 'doctor' from the landlady and the boy at 'Child's.'"

"Child's" was the resort of Dr. Mead, and other professional men of eminence. The Fellows of the Royal Society came here. Whiston relates that Sir Hans Sloane, Dr. Halley, and he were once at "Child's," when Dr. Halley asked him (Whiston) why he was not a member of the Royal Society? Whiston answered, "Because they durst not choose a heretic." Upon which Dr. Halley said, if Sir Hans Sloane would propose him, he (Dr. Halley) would second it, which was done accordingly.

Garrick, who kept up his interest with different coteries, carefully cultivated the City men, by attending a club held at the "Queen's Arms" tavern, in St. Paul's Churchyard. Here he used to meet Mr. Sharpe, a surgeon; Mr. Paterson, the City Solicitor; Mr. Draper, a bookseller, and Mr. Clutterbuck, a mercer; and these quiet cool men were his standing council in theatrical affairs, and his gauge of the city taste. They were none of them drinkers, and in order to make a reckoning, called only for French wine. Here Dr. Johnson started a City club, and was particular the members should not be "patriotic." Boswell, who went with him to the "Queen's Arms" club, found the members "very sensible, well-behaved men." Brasbridge, the silversmith of Fleet Street, who wrote his memoirs, has described a sixpenny card club held here at a later date. Among the members was that generous and hospitable man, Henry Baldwin, who, under the auspices of Garrick, the elder Colman, and Bonnell Thornton, started the St. James's Chronicle, the most popular evening paper of the day.

"I belonged," says Brasbridge, "to a sixpenny card club, at the 'Queen's Arms,' in St. Paul's Churchyard; it consisted of about twenty members, of whom I am the sole survivor. Among them was Mr. Goodwin, of St. Paul's Churchyard, a woollen draper, whose constant salutation, when he first came downstairs in the morning, was to his shop, in these words, 'Good morrow, Mr. Shop; you'll take care of me, Mr. Shop, and I'll take care of you.' Another was Mr. Curtis, a respectable stationer, who from very small beginnings left his son £90,000 in one line, besides an estate of near £300 a year."

"The 'Free and Easy under the Rose' was another society which I frequented. It was founded sixty years ago, at the 'Queen's Arms,' in St. Paul's Churchyard, and was afterwards removed to the 'Horn' tavern. It was originally kept by Bates, who was never so happy as when standing behind a chair with a napkin under his arm; but arriving at the dignity of alderman, tucking in his callipash and calipee himself, instead of handing it round to the company, soon did his business. My excellent friend Briskett, the Marshal of the High Court of Admiralty, was president of this society for many years, and I was constantly in attendance as his vice. It consisted of some thousand members, and I never heard of any one of them that ever incurred any serious punishment. Our great fault was sitting too late; in this respect, according to the principle of Franklin, that 'time is money,' we were most unwary spendthrifts; in other instances, our conduct was orderly and correct."

One of the members in Brasbridge's time was Mr. Hawkins, a worthy but ill-educated spatterdash maker, of Chancery Lane, who daily murdered the king's English. He called an invalid an "individual," and said our troops in America had been "manured" to hardship. Another oddity was a Mr. Darwin, a Radical, who one night brought to the club-room a caricature of the head of George III. in a basket; and whom Brasbridge nearly frightened out of his wits by pretending to send one of the waiters for the City Marshal. Darwin was the great chum of Mr. Figgins, a wax-chandler in the Poultry; and as they always entered the room together, Brasbridge gave them the nickname of "Liver and Gizzard." Miss Boydell, when her uncle was Lord Mayor, conferred sham knighthood on Figgins, with a tap of her fan, and he was henceforward known as "Sir Benjamin."

The Churchyard publisher of Cowper's first volume of poems, "Table Talk," and also of "The Task," was a very worthy, liberal man--Joseph Johnson, who also published the "Olney Hymns" for Newton, the scientific writings of the persecuted Priestley, and the smooth, vapid verses of Darwin. Johnson encouraged Fuseli to paint a Milton Gallery, for an edition of the poet to be edited by Cowper. Johnson was imprisoned nine months in the King's Bench, for selling the political writings of Gilbert Wakefield. He, however, bore the oppression of the majority philosophically, and rented the marshal's house, where he gave dinners to his distinguished literary friends.

"Another set of my acquaintances," says Leigh Hunt in his autobiography, "used to assemble on Fridays at the hospitable table of Mr. Hunter, the bookseller, in St. Paul's Churchyard. They were the survivors of the literary party that were accustomed to dine with his predecessor, Mr. Johnson. The most regular were Fuseli and Bonnycastle. Now and then Godwin was present; oftener Mr. Kinnaird, the magistrate, a great lover of Horace.

"Fuseli was a small man, with energetic features and a white head of hair. Our host's daughter, then a little girl, used to call him the white-headed lion. He combed his hair up from the forehead, and as his whiskers were large his face was set in a kind of hairy frame, which, in addition to the fierceness of his look, really gave him an aspect of that sort. Otherwise his features were rather sharp than round. He would have looked much like an old military officer if his face, besides its real energy, had not affected more. There was the same defect in it as in his pictures. Conscious of not having all the strength he wished, he endeavoured to make up for it by violence and pretension. He carried this so far as to look fiercer than usual when he sat for his picture. His friend and engraver, Mr. Houghton, drew an admirable likeness of him in this state of dignified extravagance. He is sitting back in his chair, leaning on his hand, but looking ready to pounce withal. His notion of repose was like that of Pistol.

"A student reading in a garden is all over intensity of muscle, and the quiet tea-table scene in Cowper he has turned into a preposterous conspiracy of huge men and women, all bent on showing their thews and postures, with dresses as fantastic as their minds. One gentleman, of the existence of whose trousers you are not aware till you see the terminating line at the ankle, is sitting and looking grim on a sofa, with his hat on and no waistcoat.

"Fuseli was lively and interesting in conversation, but not without his usual faults of violence and pretension. Nor was he always as decorous as an old man ought to be, especially one whose turn of mind is not of the lighter and more pleasurable cast. The licences he took were coarse, and had not sufficient regard to his company. Certainly they went a great deal beyond his friend Armstrong, to whose account, I believe, Fuseli's passion for swearing was laid. The poet condescended to be a great swearer, and Fuseli thought it energetic to swear like him. His friendship with Bonnycastle had something childlike and agreeable in it. They came and went away together for years, like a couple of old schoolboys. They also like boys rallied one another, and sometimes made a singular display of it--Fuseli, at least, for it was he who was the aggressor.

"Bonnycastle was a good fellow. He was a tall, gaunt, long-headed man, with large features and spectacles, and a deep internal voice, with a twang of rusticity in it; and he goggled over his plate like a horse. I often thought that a bag of corn would have hung well on him. His laugh was equine, and showed his teeth upwards at the sides. Wordsworth, who notices similar mysterious manifestations on the part of donkeys, would have thought it ominous. Bonnycastle was extremely fond of quoting Shakespeare and telling stories, and if the Edinburgh Review had just come out, would have given us all the jokes in it. He had once a hypochondriacal disorder of long duration, and he told us that he should never forget the comfortable sensation given him one night during this disorder by his knocking a landlord that was insolent to him down the man's staircase. On the strength of this piece of energy (having first ascertained that the offender was not killed) he went to bed, and had a sleep of unusual soundness.

"It was delightful one day to hear him speak with complacency of a translation which had appeared in Arabic, and which began by saying, on the part of the translator, that it pleased God, for the advancement of human knowledge, to raise us up a Bonnycastle.

"Kinnaird, the magistrate, was a sanguine man, under the middle height, with a fine lamping black eye, lively to the last, and a body that 'had increased, was increasing, and ought to have been diminished,' which is by no means what he thought of the prerogative. Next to his bottle, he was fond of his Horace, and, in the intervals of business at the police office, would enjoy both in his arm-chair. Between the vulgar calls of this kind of magistracy and the perusal of the urbane Horace there must have been a quota of contradiction, which the bottle, perhaps, was required to render quite palatable."

Mr. Charles Knight's pleasant book, "Shadows of the Old Booksellers," also reminds us of another of the great Churchyard booksellers, John Rivington and Sons, at the "Bible and Crown." They published, in 1737, an early sermon of Whitefield's, before he left the Church, and were booksellers to the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge; and to this shop country clergymen invariably went to buy their theology, or to publish their own sermons.

In St. Paul's Churchyard (says Sir John Hawkins, in his "History of Music") were formerly many shops where music and musical instruments were sold, for which, at this time, no better reason can be given than that the service at the Cathedral drew together, twice a day, all the lovers of music in London--not to mention that the choirmen were wont to assemble there, and were met by their friends and acquaintances.

Jeremiah Clark, a composer of sacred music, who shot himself in his house in St. Paul's Churchyard, was educated in the Royal Chapel, under Dr. Blow, who entertained so great a friendship for him as to resign in his favour his place of Master of the Children and Almoner of St. Paul's, Clark being appointed his successor, in 1693, and shortly afterwards he became organist of the cathedral. "In July, 1700," says Sir John Hawkins, "he and his fellow pupils were appointed Gentlemen Extraordinary of the Royal Chapel; and in 1704 they were jointly admitted to the place of organist thereof, in the room of Mr. Francis Piggot. Clark had the misfortune to entertain a hopeless passion for a very beautiful lady, in a station of life far above him; his despair of success threw him into a deep melancholy; in short, he grew weary of his life, and on the first day of December, 1707, shot himself. He was determined upon this method of putting an end to his life by an event which, strange as it may seem, is attested by the late Mr. Samuel Weeley, one of the lay-vicars of St. Paul's, who was very intimate with him, and had heard him relate it. Being at the house of a friend in the country, he took an abrupt resolution to return to London; this friend having observed in his behaviour marks of great dejection, furnished him with a horse and a servant. Riding along the road, a fit of melancholy seized him, upon which he alighted, and giving the servant his horse to hold, went into a field, in a corner whereof was a pond, and also trees, and began a debate with himself whether he should then end his days by hanging or drowning. Not being able to resolve on either, he thought of making what he looked upon as chance the umpire, and drew out of his pocket a piece of money, and tossing it into the air, it came down on its edge, and stuck in the clay. Though the determination answered not his wish, it was far from ambiguous, as it seemed to forbid both methods of destruction, and would have given unspeakable comfort to a mind less disordered than his was. Being thus interrupted in his purpose, he returned, and mounting his horse, rode on to London, and in a short time after shot himself. He dwelt in a house in St. Paul's Churchyard, situate on the place where the Chapter-house now stands. Old Mr. Reading was passing by at the instant the pistol went off, and entering the house, found his friend in the agonies of death.

"The compositions of Clark are few. His anthems are remarkably pathetic, at the same time that they preserve the dignity and majesty of the church style. The most celebrated of them are 'I will love thee,' printed in the second book of the 'Harmonia Sacra;' 'Bow down thine ear,' and 'Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem.'

"The only works of Clark published by himself are lessons for the harpsichord and sundry songs, which are to be found in the collections of that day, particularly in the 'Pills to Purge Melancholy,' but they are there printed without the basses. He also composed for D'Urfey's comedy of 'The Fond Husband, or the Plotting Sisters,' that sweet ballad air, 'The bonny grey-eyed Morn,' which Mr. Gay has introduced into 'The Beggar's Opera,' and is sung to the words, ''Tis woman that seduces all mankind.'"

"Mattheson, of Hamburg," says Hawkins, "had sent over to England, in order to their being published here, two collections of lessons for the harpsichord, and they were accordingly engraved on copper, and printed for Richard Meares, in St. Paul's Churchyard, and published in the year 1714. Handel was at this time in London, and in the afternoon was used to frequent St. Paul's Church for the sake of hearing the service, and of playing on the organ after it was over; from whence he and some of the gentlemen of the choir would frequently adjourn to the 'Queen's Arms' tavern, in St. Paul's Churchyard, where was a harpsichord. It happened one afternoon, when they were thus met together, Mr. Weeley, a gentleman of the choir, came in and informed them that Mr. Mattheson's lessons were then to be had at Mr. Meares's shop; upon which Mr. Handel ordered them immediately to be sent for, and upon their being brought, played them all over without rising from the instrument."

"There dwelt," says Sir John Hawkins, "at the west corner of London House Yard, in St. Paul's Churchyard, at the sign of the 'Dolphin and Crown,' one John Young, a maker of violins and other musical instruments. This man had a son, whose Christian name was Talbot, who had been brought up with Greene in St. Paul's choir, and had attained to great proficiency on the violin, as Greene had on the harpsichord. The merits of the two Youngs, father and son, are celebrated in the following quibbling verses, which were set to music in the form of a catch, printed in the pleasant 'Musical Companion,' published in 1726:--

"'You scrapers that want a good fiddle well strung, You must go to the man that is old while he's young; But if this same fiddle you fain would play bold, You must go to his son, who'll be young when he's old. There's old Young and young Young, both men of renown, Old sells and young plays the best fiddle in town. Young and old live together, and may they live long, Young to play an old fiddle, old to sell a new song.'

[Illustration: EXECUTION OF FATHER GARNET (see page 265.])

"This young man, Talbot Young, together with Greene and several persons, had weekly meetings at his father's house, for practice of music. The fame of this performance spread far and wide; and in a few winters the resort of gentlemen performers was greater than the house would admit of; a small subscription was set on foot, and they removed to the 'Queen's Head' tavern, in Paternoster Row. Here they were joined by Mr. Woolaston and his friends, and also by a Mr. Franckville, a fine performer on the viol de Gamba. And after a few winters, being grown rich enough to hire additional performers, they removed, in the year 1724, to the 'Castle,' in Paternoster Row, which was adorned with a picture of Mr. Young, painted by Woolaston.

"The 'Castle' concerts continuing to flourish for many years, auditors as well as performers were admitted subscribers, and tickets were delivered out to the members in rotation for the admission of ladies. Their fund enabling them, they hired second-rate singers from the operas, and many young persons of professions and trades that depended upon a numerous acquaintance, were induced by motives of interest to become members of the 'Castle' concert.

"Mr. Young continued to perform in this society till the declining state of his health obliged him to quit it; after which time Prospero Castrucci and other eminent performers in succession continued to lead the band. About the year 1744, at the instance of an alderman of London, now deservedly forgotten, the subscription was raised from two guineas to five, for the purpose of performing oratorios. From the 'Castle' this society removed to Haberdashers' Hall, where they continued for fifteen or sixteen years; from thence they removed to the' King's Arms,' in Cornhill."

A curious old advertisement of 1681 relates to St. Paul's Alley:--"Whereas the yearly meeting of the name of Adam hath of late, through the deficiency of the last stewards, been neglected, these are to give notice to all gentlemen and others that are of that name that at William Adam's, commonly called the 'Northern Ale-house,' in St. Paul's Alley, in St. Paul's Churchyard, there will be a weekly meeting, every Monday night, of our namesakes, between the hours of six and eight of the clock in the evening, in order to choose stewards to revive our antient and annual feast."--Domestic Intelligence, 1681.

During the building of St. Paul's, Wren was the zealous Master of the St. Paul's Freemason's Lodge, which assembled at the "Goose and Gridiron," one of the most ancient lodges in London. He presided regularly at its meetings for upwards of eighteen years. He presented the lodge with three beautifully carved mahogany candlesticks, and the trowel and mallet which he used in laying the first stone of the great cathedral in 1675. In 1688 Wren was elected Grand Master of the order, and he nominated his old fellow-workers at St. Paul's, Cibber, the sculptor, and Strong, the master mason, Grand Wardens. In Queen Anne's reign there were 129 lodges--eighty-six in London, thirty-six in provincial cities, and seven abroad. Many of the oldest lodges in London are in the neighbourhood of St. Paul's.

"At the 'Apple Tree' Tavern," say Messrs. Hotten and Larwood, in their history of "Inn and Tavern Signs," "in Charles Street, Covent Garden, in 1716, four of the leading London Freemasons' lodges, considering themselves neglected by Sir Christopher Wren, met and chose a Grand Master, pro tem., until they should be able to place a noble brother at the head, which they did the year following, electing the Duke of Montague. Sir Christopher had been chosen in 1698. The three lodges that joined with the 'Apple Tree' lodge used to meet respectively at the 'Goose and Gridiron,' St. Paul's Churchyard; the 'Crown,' Parker's Lane; and at the 'Rummer and Grapes' Tavern, Westminster. The 'Goose and Gridiron' occurs at Woodhall, Lincolnshire, and in a few other localities. It is said to owe its origin to the following circumstances--The 'Mitre' was a celebrated music-house in London House Yard, at the north-west end of St. Paul's. When it ceased to be a music-house, the succeeding landlord, to ridicule its former destiny, chose for his sign a goose striking the bars of a gridiron with his foot, in ridicule of the 'Swan and Harp,' a common sign for the early music-houses. Such an origin does the Tatler give; but it may also be a vernacular reading of the coat of arms of the Company of Musicians, suspended probably at the door of the 'Mitre' when it was a music-house. These arms are a swan with his wings expanded, within a double tressure, counter, flory, argent. This double tressure might have suggested a gridiron to unsophisticated passers-by.

"The celebrated 'Mitre,' near the west end of St. Paul's, was the first music-house in London. The name of the master was Robert Herbert, alias Farges. Like many brother publicans, he was, besides being a lover of music, also a collector of natural curiosities, as appears by his 'Catalogue of many natural rarities, collected with great industrie, cost, and thirty years' travel into foreign countries, collected by Robert Herbert, alias Farges, gent., and sworn servant to his Majesty; to be seen at the place called the Music-house, at the Mitre, near the west end of S. Paul's Church, 1664.' This collection, or, at least, a great part of it, was bought by Sir Hans Sloane. It is conjectured that the 'Mitre' was situated in London House Yard, at the north-west end of St. Paul's, on the spot where afterwards stood the house known by the sign of the 'Goose and Gridiron.'"

St. Paul's School, known to cathedral visitors chiefly by that murky, barred-in, purgatorial playground opposite the east end of Wren's great edifice, is of considerable antiquity, for it was founded in 1512 by that zealous patron of learning, and friend of Erasmus, Dean Colet. This liberal-minded man was the eldest of twenty-two children, all of whom he survived. His father was a City mercer, who was twice Lord Mayor of London. Colet became Dean of St. Paul's in 1505, and soon afterwards (as Latimer tells us) narrowly escaped burning for his opposition to image-worship. Having no near relatives, Colet, in 1509, began to found St. Paul's School, adapted to receive 153 poor boys (the number of fishes taken by Peter in the miraculous draught). The building is said to have cost £4,500, and was endowed with lands in Buckinghamshire estimated by Stow, in 1598, as of the yearly value of £120 or better, and now worth £12,000, with a certainty of rising.

No children were to be admitted into the school but such as could say their catechism, and read and write competently. Each child was required to pay fourpence on his first admission to the school, which sum was to be given to the "poor scholar" who swept the school and kept the seats clean. The hours of study were to be from seven till eleven in the morning, and from one to five in the afternoon, with prayers in the morning, at noon, and in the evening. It was expressly stipulated that the pupils should never use tallow candles, but only wax, and those "at the cost of their friends." The most remarkable statute of the school is that by which the scholars were bound on Christmas-day to attend at St. Paul's Church and hear the child-bishop sermon, and after be at the high mass, and each of them offer one penny to the child-bishop. When Dean Colet was asked why he had left his foundation in trust to laymen (the Mercers' Company), as tenants of his father, rather than to an ecclesiastical foundation, he answered, "that there was no absolute certainty in human affairs, but, for his part, he found less corruption in such a body of citizens than in any other order or degree of mankind."

Erasmus, after describing the foundation and the school, which he calls "a magnificent structure, to which were attached two dwelling-houses for the masters," proceeds to say, "He divided the school into four chambers. The first--namely, the porch and entrance--in which the chaplain teaches, where no child is to be admitted who cannot read and write; the second apartment is for those who are taught by the under-master; the third is for the boys of the upper form, taught by the high master. These two parts of the school are divided by a curtain, to be drawn at will. Over the headmaster's chair is an image of the boy Jesus, a beautiful work, in the gesture of teaching, whom all the scholars, going and departing, salute with a hymn. There is a representation of God the Father, also, saying, 'Hear ye him,' which words were written at my suggestion."

"The last apartment is a little chapel for divine service. In the whole school there are no corners or hiding-places; neither a dining nor a sleeping place. Each boy has his own place, one above another. Every class or form contains sixteen boys, and he that is at the head of a class has a little seat, by way of pre-eminence."

Erasmus, who took a great interest in St. Paul's School, drew up a grammar, and other elementary books of value, for his friend Colet, who had for one of his masters William Lily, "the model of grammarians." Colet's masters were always to be married men.

The school thus described shared in the Great Fire of 1666, and was rebuilt by the Mercers' Company in 1670. This second structure was superseded by the present edifice, designed and erected by George Smith, Esq., the architect of the Mercers' Company. It has the advantage of two additional masters' houses, and a large cloister for a playground underneath the school.

On occasions of the sovereigns of England, or other royal or distinguished persons, going in state through the City, a balcony is erected in front of this building, whence addresses from the school are presented to the illustrious visitors by the head boys. The origin of this right or custom of the Paulines is not known, but it is of some antiquity. Addresses were so presented to Charles V. and Henry VIII., in 1522; to Queen Elizabeth, 1558; and to Queen Victoria, when the Royal Exchange was opened, in 1844. Her Majesty, however, preferred to receive the address at the next levee; and this precedent was followed when the multitudes of London rushed to welcome the Prince of Wales and Princess Alexandra, in 1863.

The ancient school-room was on a level with the street, the modern one is built over the cloister. It is a finely-proportioned apartment, and has several new class-rooms adjoining, erected upon a plan proposed by Dr. Kynaston, the present headmaster. At the south end of this noble room, above the master's chair, is a bust of the founder by Roubiliac. Over the seat is inscribed, "Intendas animum studiis et rebus honestis," and over the entrance to the room is the quaint and appropriate injunction found at Winchester and other public schools--"Doce, disce, aut discede."

St. Paul's School has an excellent library immediately adjoining the school-room, to which the eighth class have access out of school-hours, the six seniors occupying places in it in school-time.

In 1602 the masters' stipends were enlarged, and the surplus money set apart for college exhibitions. The head master receives £900 a year, the second master £400. The education is entirely gratuitous. The presentations to the school are in the gift of the Master of the Mercers' Company, which company has undoubtedly much limited Dean Colet's generous intentions. The school is rich in prizes and exhibitions. The latest chronicler of the Paulines says:--

"Few public schools can claim to have educated more men who figure prominently in English history than St. Paul's School. Sir Edward North, founder of the noble family of that name; Sir William Paget, who from being the son of a serjeant-at-mace became privy councillor to four successive sovereigns, and acquired the title now held by his descendant, the owner of Beaudesert; and John Leland, the celebrated archæologist; William Whitaker, one of the earliest and most prominent chaplains of the Reformation; William Camden, antiquarian and herald; the immortal John Milton; Samuel Pepys; Robert Nelson, author of the 'Companion to the Festivals and Fasts of the Church of England;' Dr. Benjamin Calamy; Sir John Trevor, Master of the Rolls and Speaker of the House of Commons; John, the great Duke of Marlborough; Halley, the great astronomer; the gallant but unfortunate Major André; Sir Philip Francis; Sir Charles Wetherell; Sir Frederick Pollock, the late Lord Chief Baron; Lord Chancellor Truro; and the distinguished Greek Professor at Oxford, Benjamin Jowett."

Pepys seems to have been very fond of his old school. In 1659, he goes on Apposition Day to hear his brother John deliver his speech, which he had corrected; and on another occasion, meeting his old second master, Crumbun--a dogmatic old pedagogue, as he calls him--at a bookseller's in the Churchyard, he gives the school a fine copy of Stephens' "Thesaurus." In 1661, going to the Mercers' Hall in the Lord Admiral's coach, we find him expressing pleasure at going in state to the place where as a boy he had himself humbly pleaded for an exhibition to St. Paul's School.

According to Dugdale, an ancient cathedral school existed at St. Paul's. Bishop Balmeis (Henry I.) bestowed on it "the house of Durandus, near the Bell Tower;" and no one could keep a school in London without the licence of the master of Paul's, except the masters of St. Mary-le-Bow and St. Martin's-le-Grand.

The old laws of Dean Colet, containing many curious provisions and restrictions, among other things forbad cock-fighting "and other pageantry" in the school. It was ordered that the second master and chaplain were to reside in Old Change. There was a bust of good Dean Colet over the head-master's throne. Strype, speaking of the original dedication of the school to the child Jesus, says, "but the saint robbed his Master of the title." In early days there used to be great war between the "Paul's pigeons," as they were called, and the boys of St. Anthony's Free School, Threadneedle Street, whom the Paulines nicknamed "Anthony's pigs." The Anthony's boys were great carriers off of prizes for logic and grammar.

Of Milton's school-days Mr. Masson, in his voluminous life of the poet, says, "Milton was at St. Paul's, as far as we can calculate, from 1620, when he passed his eleventh year, to 1624-5, when he had passed his sixteenth."

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XXIII. PATERNOSTER ROW

Its Successions of Traders--The House of Longman--Goldsmith at Fault--Tarleton, Actor, Host, and Wit--Ordinaries around St. Paul's: their Rules and Customs--The "Castle"--"Dolly's"--The "Chapter" and its Frequenters--Chatterton and Goldsmith--Dr. Buchan and his Prescriptions--Dr. Gower--Dr. Fordyce--The "Wittinagemot" at the "Chapter"--The "Printing Conger"--Mrs. Turner, the Poisoner--The Church of St. Michael "ad Bladum"--The Boy in Panier Alley.

Paternoster Row, that crowded defile north of the Cathedral, lying between the old Grey Friars and the Blackfriars, was once entirely ecclesiastical in its character, and, according to Stow, was so called from the stationers and text-writers who dwelt there and sold religious and educational books, alphabets, paternosters, aves, creeds, and graces. It then became famous for its spurriers, and afterwards for eminent mercers, silkmen, and lacemen; so that the coaches of the "quality" often blocked up the whole street. After the fire these trades mostly removed to Bedford Street, King Street, and Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. In 1720 (says Strype) there were stationers and booksellers who came here in Queen Anne's reign from Little Britain, and a good many tire-women, who sold commodes, top-knots, and other dressings for the female head. By degrees, however, learning ousted vanity, chattering died into studious silence, and the despots of literature ruled supreme. Many a groan has gone up from authors in this gloomy thoroughfare.

One only, and that the most ancient, of the Paternoster Row book-firms, will our space permit us to chronicle. The house of Longman is part and parcel of the Row. The first Longman, born in Bristol in 1699, was the son of a soap and sugar merchant. Apprenticed in London, he purchased (circa 1724) the business of Mr. Taylor, the publisher of "Robinson Crusoe," for £2,282 9s. 6d., and his first venture was the works of Boyle. This patriarch died in 1755, and was succeeded by a nephew, Thomas Longman, who ventured much trade in America and "the plantations." He was succeeded by his son, Mr. T.L. Longman, a plain man of the old citizen style, who took as partner Mr. Owen Rees, a Bristol bookseller, a man of industry and acumen.

Before the close of the eighteenth century the house of Longman and Rees had become one of the largest in the City, both as publishers and book-merchants. When there was talk of an additional paper-duty, the ministers consulted, according to West, the new firm, and on their protest desisted; a reverse course, according to the same authority, would have checked operations on the part of that one firm alone of £100,000. Before the opening of the nineteenth century they had become possessed of some new and valuable copyrights--notably, the "Grammar" of Lindley Murray, of New York. This was in 1799.

The "lake poets" proved a valuable acquisition. Wordsworth came first to them, then Coleridge, and lastly Southey. In 1802 the Longmans commenced the issue of Rees' "Cyclopædia," reconstructed from the old Chambers', and about the same time the Annual Review, edited by Aikin, which for the nine years of its existence Southey and Taylor of Norwich mainly supported. The catalogue of the firm for 1803 is divided into no less than twenty-two classes. Among their books we note Paley's "Natural Theology," Sharon Turner's "Anglo-Saxon History," Adolphus's "History of King George III.," Pinkerton's "Geography," Fosbrooke's "British Monachism," Cowper's "Homer," Gifford's "Juvenal," Sotheby's "Oberon," and novels and romances not a few. At this time Mr. Longman used to have Saturday evening receptions in Paternoster Row.

Sir Walter Scott's "Guy Mannering," "The Monastery," and "The Abbot," were published by Longmans. "Lalla Rookh," by Tom Moore, was published by them, and they gave £3,000 for it.

In 1811 Mr. Brown, who had entered the house as an apprentice in 1792, and was the son of an old servant, became partner. Then came in Mr. Orme, a faithful clerk of the house--for the house required several heads, the old book trade alone being an important department. In 1826, when Constable of Edinburgh came down in the commercial crash, and brought poor Sir Walter Scott to the ground with him, the Longman firm succeeded to the Edinburgh Review, which is still their property. Mr. Green became a partner in 1824, and in 1856 Mr. Roberts was admitted. In 1829 the firm ventured on Lardner's "Cyclopædia," contributed to by Scott, Tom Moore, Mackintosh, &c, and which ended in 1846 with the 133rd volume. In 1860 Mr. Thomas Longman became a partner.

Thomas Norton Longman, says a writer in the Critic, resided for many years at Mount Grove, Hampstead, where he entertained many wits and scholars. He died there in 1842, leaving £200,000 personalty. In 1839 Mr. William Longman entered the firm as a partner. "Longman, Green, Longman, and Roberts" became the style of the great publishing house, the founder of which commenced business one hundred and forty-four years ago, at the house which became afterwards No. 39, Paternoster Row.

In 1773, a year before Goldsmith's death, Dr. Kenrick, a vulgar satirist of the day, wrote an anonymous letter in an evening paper called The London Packet, sneering at the poet's vanity, and calling "The Traveller" a flimsy poem, denying the "Deserted Village" genius, fancy, or fire, and calling "She Stoops to Conquer" the merest pantomime. Goldsmith's Irish blood fired at an allusion to Miss Horneck and his supposed rejection by her. Supposing Evans, of Paternoster Row, to be the editor of the Packet, Goldsmith resolved to chastise him. Evans, a brutal fellow, who turned his son out in the streets and separated from his wife because she took her son's part, denied all knowledge of the matter. As he turned his back to look for the libel, Goldsmith struck him sharply across the shoulders. Evans, a sturdy, hot Welshman, returned the blow with interest, and in the scuffle a lamp overhead was broken and covered the combatants with fish-oil. Dr. Kenrick then stepped from an adjoining room, interposed between the combatants, and sent poor Goldsmith home, bruised and disfigured, in a coach. Evans subsequently indicted Goldsmith for the assault, but the affair was compromised by Goldsmith paying £50 towards a Welsh charity. The friend who accompanied Goldsmith to this chivalrous but unsuccessful attack is said to have been Captain Horneck, but it seems more probable that it was Captain Higgins, an Irish friend mentioned in "The Haunch of Venison."

Near the site of the present Dolly's Chop House stood the "Castle," an ordinary kept by Shakespeare's friend and fellow actor, Richard Tarleton, the low comedian of Queen Elizabeth's reign. It was this humorous, ugly actor who no doubt suggested to the great manager many of his jesters, fools, and simpletons, and we know that the tag songs--such as that at the end of All's Well that Ends Well, "When that I was a little tiny boy"--were expressly written for Tarleton, and were danced by that comedian to the tune of a pipe and a tabor which he himself played. The part which Tarleton had to play as host and wit is well shown in his "Book of Jests:"--

"Tarleton keeping an ordinary in Paternoster Row, and sitting with gentlemen to make them merry, would approve mustard standing before them to have wit. 'How so?' saies one. 'It is like a witty scold meeting another scold, knowing that scold will scold, begins to scold first. So,' says he, 'the mustard being lickt up, and knowing that you will bite it, begins to bite you first.' 'I'll try that,' saies a gull by, and the mustard so tickled him that his eyes watered. 'How now?' saies Tarleton; 'does my jest savour?' 'I,' saies the gull, 'and bite too.' 'If you had had better wit,' saies Tarleton, 'you would have bit first; so, then, conclude with me, that dumbe unfeeling mustard hath more wit than a talking, unfeeling foole, as you are.' Some were pleased, and some were not; but all Tarleton's care was taken, for his resolution was ever, before he talkt any jest, to measure his opponent."

A modern antiquary has with great care culled from the "Gull's Horn Book" and other sources a sketch of the sort of company that might be met with at such an ordinary. It was the custom for men of fashion in the reign of Elizabeth and James to pace in St. Paul's till dinner-time, and after the ordinary again till the hour when the theatres opened. The author of "Shakespeare's England" says:--

"There were ordinaries of all ranks, the table-d'hôte being the almost universal mode of dining among those who were visitors to London during the season, or term-time, as it was then called. There was the twelvepenny ordinary, where you might meet justices of the peace and young knights; and the threepenny ordinary, which was frequented by poor lieutenants and thrifty attorneys. At the one the rules of high society were maintained, and the large silver salt-cellar indicated the rank of the guests. At the other the diners were silent and unsociable, or the conversation, if any, was so full of 'amercements and feoffments' that a mere countryman would have thought the people were conjuring.

"If a gallant entered the ordinary at about half-past eleven, or even a little earlier, he would find the room full of fashion-mongers, waiting for the meat to be served. There are men of all classes: titled men, who live cheap that they may spend more at Court; stingy men, who want to save the charges of house-keeping; courtiers, who come there for society and news; adventurers, who have no home; Templars, who dine there daily; and men about town, who dine at whatever place is nearest to their hunger. Lords, citizens, concealed Papists, spies, prodigal 'prentices, precisians, aldermen, foreigners, officers, and country gentlemen, all are here. Some have come on foot, some on horseback, and some in those new caroches the poets laugh at."

"The well-bred courtier, on entering the room, saluted those of his acquaintances who were in winter gathered round the fire, in summer round the window, first throwing his cloak to his page and hanging up his hat and sword. The parvenu would single out a friend, and walk up and down uneasily with the scorn and carelessness of a gentleman usher, laughing rudely and nervously, or obtruding himself into groups of gentlemen gathered round a wit or poet. Quarrelsome men pace about fretfully, fingering their sword-hilts and maintaining as sour a face as that Puritan moping in a corner, pent up by a group of young swaggerers, who are disputing over a card at gleek. Vain men, not caring whether it was Paul's, the Tennis Court, or the playhouse, published their clothes, and talked as loud as they could, in order to appear at ease, and laughed over the Water Poet's last epigram or the last pamphlet of Marprelate. The soldiers bragged of nothing but of their employment in Ireland and the Low Countries--how they helped Drake to burn St. Domingo, or grave Maurice to hold out Breda. Tom Coryatt, or such weak-pated travellers, would babble of the Rialto and Prester John, and exhibit specimens of unicorns' horns or palm-leaves from the river Nilus. The courtier talked of the fair lady who gave him the glove which he wore in his hat as a favour; the poet of the last satire of Marston or Ben Jonson, or volunteered to read a trifle thrown off of late by 'Faith, a learned gentleman, a very worthy friend,' though if we were to enquire, this varlet poet might turn out, after all, to be the mere decoy duck of the hostess, paid to draw gulls and fools thither. The mere dullard sat silent, playing with his glove or discussing at what apothecary's the best tobacco was to be bought.

"The dishes seemed to have been served up at these hot luncheons or early dinners in much the same order as at the present day--meat, poultry, game, and pastry. 'To be at your woodcocks' implied that you had nearly finished dinner. The more unabashable, rapid adventurer, though but a beggarly captain, would often attack the capon while his neighbour, the knight, was still encumbered with his stewed beef; and when the justice of the peace opposite, who has just pledged him in sack, is knuckle-deep in the goose, he falls stoutly on the long-billed game; while at supper, if one of the college of critics, our gallant praised the last play or put his approving stamp upon the new poem.

"Primero and a 'pair' of cards followed the wine. Here the practised player learnt to lose with endurance, and neither to tear the cards nor crush the dice with his heel. Perhaps the jest may be true, and that men sometimes played till they sold even their beards to cram tennis-balls or stuff cushions. The patron often paid for the wine or disbursed for the whole dinner. Then the drawer came round with his wooden knife, and scraped off the crusts and crumbs, or cleared off the parings of fruit and cheese into his basket. The torn cards were thrown into the fire, the guests rose, rapiers were re-hung, and belts buckled on. The post news was heard, and the reckonings paid. The French lackey and Irish footboy led out the hobby horses, and some rode off to the play, others to the river-stairs to take a pair of oars to the Surrey side."

The "Castle," where Tarleton has so often talked of Shakespeare and his wit, perished in the Great Fire; but was afterwards rebuilt, and here "The Castle Society of Music" gave their performances, no doubt aided by many of the St. Paul's Choir. Part of the old premises were subsequently (says Mr. Timbs) the Oxford Bible Warehouse, destroyed by fire in 1822, and since rebuilt. "Dolly's Tavern," which stood near the "Castle," derived its name from Dolly, an old cook of the establishment, whose portrait Gainsborough painted. Bonnell Thornton mentions the beefsteaks and gill ale at "Dolly's." The coffee-room, with its projecting fire-places, is as old as Queen Anne. The head of that queen is painted on a window at "Dolly's," and the entrance in Queen's Head Passage is christened from this painting.

The old taverns of London are to be found in the strangest nooks and corners, hiding away behind shops, or secreting themselves up alleys. Unlike the Paris café, which delights in the free sunshine of the boulevard, and displays its harmless revellers to the passers-by, the London tavern aims at cosiness, quiet, and privacy. It partitions and curtains-off its guests as if they were conspirators and the wine they drank was forbidden by the law. Of such taverns the "Chapter" is a good example.

The "Chapter Coffee House," at the corner of Chapter House Court, was in the last century famous for its punch, its pamphlets, and its newspapers. As lawyers and authors frequented the Fleet Street taverns, so booksellers haunted the "Chapter." Bonnell Thornton, in the Connoisseur, Jan., 1754, says:--"The conversation here naturally turns upon the newest publications, but their criticisms are somewhat singular. When they say a good book they do not mean to praise the style or sentiment, but the quick and extensive sale of it. That book is best which sells most."

In 1770 Chatterton, in one of those apparently hopeful letters he wrote home while in reality his proud heart was breaking, says:--"I am quite familiar at the 'Chapter Coffee House,' and know all the geniuses there." He desires a friend to send him whatever he has published, to be left at the "Chapter." So, again, writing from the King's Bench, he says a gentleman whom he met at the "Chapter" had promised to introduce him as a travelling tutor to the young Duke of Northumberland; "but, alas! I spoke no tongue but my own."

Perhaps that very day Chatterton came, half starved, and listened with eager ears to great authors talking. Oliver Goldsmith dined there, with Lloyd, that reckless friend of still more reckless Churchill, and some Grub Street cronies, and had to pay for the lot, Lloyd having quite forgotten the important fact that he was moneyless. Goldsmith's favourite seat at the "Chapter" became a seat of honour, and was pointed out to visitors. Leather tokens of the coffee-house are still in existence.

Mrs. Gaskell has sketched the "Chapter" in 1848, with its low heavy-beamed ceilings, wainscoted rooms, and its broad, dark, shallow staircase. She describes it as formerly frequented by university men, country clergymen, and country booksellers, who, friendless in London, liked to hear the literary chat. Few persons slept there, and in a long, low, dingy room upstairs the periodical meetings of the trade were held. "The high, narrow windows looked into the gloomy Row." Nothing of motion or of change could be seen in the grim, dark houses opposite, so near and close, although the whole width of the Row was between. The mighty roar of London ran round like the sound of an unseen ocean, yet every footfall on the pavement below might be heard distinctly in that unfrequented street.

The frequenters of the "Chapter Coffee House" (1797-1805) have been carefully described by Sir Richard Phillips. Alexander Stevens, editor of the "Annual Biography and Obituary," was one of the choice spirits who met nightly in the "Wittinagemot," as it was called, or the north-east corner box in the coffee-room. The neighbours, who dropped in directly the morning papers arrived, and before they were dried by the waiter, were called the Wet Paper Club, and another set intercepted the wet evening papers. Dr. Buchan, author of that murderous book, "Domestic Medicine," which teaches a man how to kill himself and family cheaply, generally acted as moderator. He was a handsome, white-haired man, a Tory, a good-humoured companion, and a bon vivant. If any one began to complain, or appear hypochondriacal, he used to say--

"Now let me prescribe for you, without a fee. Here, John, bring a glass of punch for Mr. ----, unless he likes brandy and water better. Now, take that, sir, and I'll warrant you'll soon be well. You're a peg too low; you want stimulus; and if one glass won't do, call for a second."

Dr. Gower, the urbane and able physician of the Middlesex Hospital, was another frequent visitor, as also that great eater and worker, Dr. Fordyce, whose balance no potations could disturb. Fordyce had fashionable practice, and brought rare news and much sound information on general subjects. He came to the "Chapter" from his wine, stayed about an hour, and sipped a glass of brandy and water. He then took another glass at the "London Coffee House," and a third at the "Oxford," then wound home to his house in Essex Street, Strand. The three doctors seldom agreed on medical subjects, and laughed loudly at each other's theories. They all, however, agreed in regarding the "Chapter" punch as an infallible and safe remedy for all ills.

The standing men in the box were Hammond and Murray. Hammond, a Coventry manufacturer, had scarcely missed an evening at the "Chapter" for forty-five years. His strictures on the events of the day were thought severe but able, and as a friend of liberty he had argued all through the times of Wilkes and the French and American wars. His Socratic arguments were very amusing. Mr. Murray, the great referee of the Wittinagemot, was a Scotch minister, who generally sat at the "Chapter" reading papers from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. He was known to have read straight through every morning and evening paper published in London for thirty years. His memory was so good that he was always appealed to for dates and matters of fact, but his mind was not remarkable for general lucidity. Other friends of Stevens's were Dr. Birdmore, the Master of the Charterhouse, who abounded in anecdote; Walker, the rhetorician and dictionary-maker, a most intelligent man, with a fine enunciation, and Dr. Towers, a political writer, who over his half-pint of Lisbon grew sarcastic and lively. Also a grumbling man named Dobson, who between asthmatic paroxysms vented his spleen on all sides. Dobson was an author and paradox-monger, but so devoid of principle that he was deserted by all his friends, and would have died from want, if Dr. Garthshore had not placed him as a patient in an empty fever hospital. Robinson, "the king of booksellers," and his sensible brother John were also frequenters of the "Chapter," as well as Joseph Johnson, the friend of Priestley, Paine, Cowper, and Fuseli, from St. Paul's Churchyard. Phillips, the speculative bookseller, then commencing his Monthly Magazine, came to the "Chapter" to look out for recruits, and with his pockets well lined with guineas to enlist them. He used to describe all the odd characters at this coffee-house, from the glutton in politics, who waited at daylight for the morning papers, to the moping and disconsolate bachelor, who sat till the fire was raked out by the sleepy waiter at half-past twelve at night. These strange figures succeeded each other regularly, like the figures in a magic lantern.

Alexander Chalmers, editor of many works, enlivened the Wittinagemot by many sallies of wit and humour. He took great pains not to be mistaken for a namesake of his, who, he used to say, carried "the leaden mace." Other habitués were the two Parrys, of the Courier and Jacobite papers, and Captain Skinner, a man of elegant manners, who represented England in the absurd procession of all nations, devised by that German revolutionary fanatic, Anacharsis Clootz, in Paris in 1793. Baker, an ex-Spitalfields manufacturer, a great talker and eater, joined the coterie regularly, till he shot himself at his lodgings in Kirby Street. It was discovered that his only meal in the day had been the nightly supper at the "Chapter," at the fixed price of a shilling, with a supplementary pint of porter. When the shilling could no longer be found for the supper, he killed himself.

Among other members of these pleasant coteries were Lowndes, the electrician; Dr. Busby, the musician; Cooke, the well-bred writer of conversation; and Macfarlane, the author of "The History of George III.," who was eventually killed by a blow from the pole of a coach during an election procession of Sir Francis Burdett at Brentford. Another celebrity was a young man named Wilson, called Langton, from his stories of the haut ton. He ran up a score of £40, and then disappeared, to the vexation of Mrs. Brown, the landlady, who would willingly have welcomed him, even though he never paid, as a means of amusing and detaining customers. Waithman, the Common Councilman, was always clear-headed and agreeable. There was also Mr. Paterson, a long-headed, speculative North Briton, who had taught Pitt mathematics. But such coteries are like empires; they have their rise and their fall. Dr. Buchan died; some pert young sparks offended the Nestor, Hammond, who gave up the place, after forty-five years' attendance, and before 1820 the "Chapter" grew silent and dull.

The fourth edition of Dr. ----ell's "Antient and Modern Geography," says Nicholls, was published by an association of respectable booksellers, who about the year 1719 entered into an especial partnership, for the purpose of printing some expensive works, and styled themselves "the Printing Conger." The term "Conger" was supposed to have been at first applied to them invidiously, alluding to the conger eel, which is said to swallow the smaller fry; or it may possibly have been taken from congeries. The "Conger" met at the "Chapter."

The "Chapter" closed as a coffee-house in 1854, and was altered into a tavern.

One tragic memory, and one alone, as far as we know, attaches to Paternoster Row. It was here, in the reign of James I., that Mrs. Anne Turner lived, at whose house the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury was planned. It was here that Viscount Rochester met the infamous Countess of Essex; and it was Overbury's violent opposition to this shameful intrigue that led to his death from arsenic and diamond-dust, administered in the Tower by Weston, a servant of Mrs. Turner's, who received £180 for his trouble. Rochester and the Countess were disgraced, but their lives were spared. The Earl of Northampton, an accomplice of the countess, died before Overbury succumbed to his three months of torture.

"Mrs. Turner," says Sir Simonds d'Ewes, had "first brought up that vain and foolish use of yellow starch, coming herself to her trial in a yellow band and cuffs; and therefore, when she was afterwards executed at Tyburn, the hangman had his band and cuffs of the same colour, which made many after that day, of either sex, to forbear the use of that coloured starch, till at last it grew generally to be detested and disused."

In a curious old print of West Chepe, date 1585, in the vestry-room of St. Vedast's, Foster Lane, we see St. Michael's, on the north side of Paternoster Row. It is a plain dull building, with a low square tower and pointed-headed windows. It was chiefly remarkable as the burial-place of that indefatigable antiquary, John Leland. This laborious man, educated at St. Paul's School, was one of the earliest Greek scholars in England, and one of the deepest students of Welsh and Saxon. Henry VIII. made him one of his chaplains, bestowed on him several benefices, and gave him a roving commission to visit the ruins of England and Wales and inspect the records of collegiate and cathedral libraries. He spent six years in this search, and collected a vast mass of material, then retired to his house in the parish of St. Michael-le-Quern to note and arrange his treasures. His mind, however, broke down under the load: he became insane, and died in that dreadful darkness of the soul, 1552. His great work, "The Itinerary of Great Britain," was not published till after his death. His large collections relating to London antiquities were, unfortunately for us, lost. The old church of "St. Michael ad Bladum," says Strype, "or 'at the Corn' (corruptly called the 'Quern') was so called because in place thereof was sometime a corn-market, stretching up west to the shambles. It seemeth that this church was first builded about the reign of Edward III. Thomas Newton, first parson there, was buried in the quire, in the year 1361, which was the 35th of Edward III. At the east end of this church stood an old cross called the Old Cross in West-cheap, which was taken down in the 13th Richard II.; since the which time the said parish church was also taken down, but new builded and enlarged in the year 1430; the 8th Henry VI., William Eastfield, mayor, and the commonalty, granting of the common soil of the City three foot and a half in breadth on the north part, and four foot in breadth towards the east, for the inlarging thereof. This church was repaired, and with all things either for use or beauty, richly supplied and furnished, at the sole cost and charge of the parishioners, in 1617. This church was burnt down in the Great Fire, and remains unbuilt, and laid into the street, but the conduit which was formerly at the east end of the church still remains. The parish is united to St. Vedast, Foster Lane. At the east end of this church, in place of the old cross, is now a water-conduit placed. William Eastfield, maior, the 9th Henry VI., at the request of divers common councels, granted it so to be. Whereupon, in the 19th of the said Henry, 1,000 marks was granted by a common councel towards the works of this conduit, and the reparation of others. This is called the Little Conduit in West Cheap, by Paul's Gate. At the west end of this parish church is a small passage for people on foot, thorow the same church; and west from the same church, some distance, is another passage out of Paternoster Row, and is called (of such a sign) Panyer Alley, which cometh out into the north, over against St. Martin's Lane.

'When you have sought the city round, Yet still this is the highest ground. August 27, 1688.'

This is writ upon a stone raised, about the middle of this Panier Alley, having the figure of a panier, with a boy sitting upon it, with a bunch of grapes, as it seems to be, held between his naked foot and hand, in token, perhaps, of plenty."

At the end of a somewhat long Latin epitaph to Marcus Erington in this church occurred the following lines:--

"Vita bonos, sed poena malos, æterna capessit, Vitæ bonis, sed poena malis, per secula crescit. His mors, his vita, perpetuatur ita."

John Bankes, mercer and squire, who was interred here, had a long epitaph, adorned with the following verses:--

"Imbalmed in pious arts, wrapt in a shroud Of white, innocuous charity, who vowed, Having enough, the world should understand No need of money might escape his hand; Bankes here is laid asleepe--this place did breed him-- A precedent to all that shall succeed him. Note both his life and immitable end; Not he th' unrighteous mammon made his friend; Expressing by his talents' rich increase Service that gain'd him praise and lasting peace. Much was to him committed, much he gave, Ent'ring his treasure there whence all shall have Returne with use: what to the poore is given Claims a just promise of reward in heaven. Even such a banke Bankes left behind at last, Riches stor'd up, which age nor time can waste."

On part of the site of the church of this parish, after the fire of London in 1666, was erected a conduit for supplying the neighbourhood with water; but the same being found unnecessary, it was, with others, pulled down anno 1727.

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XXIV. BAYNARD'S CASTLE, DOCTORS' COMMONS, AND HERALDS' COLLEGE

Baron Fitzwalter and King John--The Duties of the Chief Bannerer of London--An Old-fashioned Punishment for Treason--Shakespearian Allusions to Baynard's Castle--Doctors' Commons and its Five Courts--The Court of Probate Act, 1857--The Court of Arches--The Will Office--Business of the Court--Prerogative Court--Faculty Office--Lord Stowell, the Admiralty Judge--Stories of Him--His Marriage--Sir Herbert Jenner Fust--The Court "Rising"--Dr. Lushington--Marriage Licences--Old Weller and the "Touters"--Doctors' Commons at the Present Day.

We have already made passing mention of Baynard's Castle, the grim fortress near Blackfriars Bridge, immediately below St. Paul's, where for several centuries after the Conquest, Norman barons held their state, and behind its stone ramparts maintained their petty sovereignty.

This castle took its name from Ralph Baynard, one of those greedy and warlike Normans who came over with the Conqueror, who bestowed on him many marks of favour, among others the substantial gift of the barony of Little Dunmow, in Essex. This chieftain built the castle, which derived its name from him, and, dying in the reign of Rufus, the castle descended to his grandson, Henry Baynard, who in 1111, however, forfeited it to the Crown for taking part with Helias, Earl of Mayne, who endeavoured to wrest his Norman possessions from Henry I. The angry king bestowed the barony and castle of Baynard, with all its honours, on Robert Fitzgerald, son of Gilbert, Earl of Clare, his steward and cup-bearer. Robert's son, Walter, adhered to William de Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, against John, Earl of Moreton, brother of Richard Coeur de Lion. He, however, kept tight hold of the river-side castle, which duly descended to Robert, his son, who in 1213 became castellan and standard-bearer of the city. On this same banneret, in the midst of his pride and prosperity, there fell a great sorrow. The licentious tyrant, John, who spared none who crossed his passions, fell in love with Matilda, Fitz-Walter's fair daughter, and finding neither father nor daughter compliant to his will, John accused the castellan of abetting the discontented barons, and attempted his arrest. But the river-side fortress was convenient for escape, and Fitz-Walter flew to France. Tradition says that in 1214 King John invaded France, but that after a time a truce was made between the two nations for five years. There was a river, or arm of the sea, flowing between the French and English tents, and across this flood an English knight, hungry for a fight, called out to the soldiers of the Fleur de Lis to come over and try a joust or two with him. At once Robert Fitz-Walter, with his visor down, ferried over alone with his barbed horse, and mounted ready for the fray. At the first course he struck John's knight so fiercely with his great spear, that both man and steed came rolling in a clashing heap to the ground. Never was spear better broken; and when the squires had gathered up their discomfited master, and the supposed French knight had recrossed the ferry, King John, who delighted in a well-ridden course, cried out, with his usual oath, "By God's sooth, he were a king indeed who had such a knight!" Then the friends of the banished man seized their opportunity, and came running to the usurper, and knelt down and said, "O king, he is your knight; it was Robert Fitz-Walter who ran that joust." Whereupon John, who could be generous when he could gain anything by it, sent the next day for the good knight, and restored him to his favour, allowed him to rebuild Baynard's Castle, which had been demolished by royal order, and made him, moreover, governor of the Castle of Hertford.

But Fitz-Walter could not forget the grave of his daughter, still green at Dunmow (for Matilda, indomitable in her chastity, had been poisoned by a messenger of John's, who sprinkled a deadly powder over a poached egg--at least, so the legend runs), and soon placed himself at the head of those brave barons who the next year forced the tyrant to sign Magna Charta at Runnymede. He was afterwards chosen general of the barons' army, to keep John to his word, and styled "Marshal of the Army of God and of the Church." He then (not having had knocks enough in England) joined the Crusaders, and was present at the great siege of Damietta. In 1216 (the first year of Henry III.) Fitz-Walter again appears to the front, watchful of English liberty, for his Castle of Hertford having been delivered to Louis of France, the dangerous ally of the barons, he required of the French to leave the same, "because the keeping thereof did by ancient right and title pertain to him." On which Louis, says Stow, prematurely showing his claws, replied scornfully "that Englishmen were not worthy to have such holds in keeping, because they did betray their own lord;" but Louis not long after left England rather suddenly, accelerated no doubt by certain movements of Fitz-Walter and his brother barons.

Fitz-Walter dying, and being buried at Dunmow, the scene of his joys and sorrows, was succeeded by his son Walter, who was summoned to Chester in the forty-third year of Henry III., to repel the fierce and half-savage Welsh from the English frontier. After Walter's death the barony of Baynard was in the wardship of Henry III. during the minority of Robert Fitz-Walter, who in 1303 claimed his right as castellan and banner-bearer of the City of London before John Blandon, or Blount, Mayor of London. The old formularies on which Fitz-Walter founded his claims are quoted by Stow from an old record which is singularly quaint and picturesque. The chief clauses run thus:--

"The said Robert and his heirs are and ought to be chief bannerets of London in fee, for the chastiliary which he and his ancestors had by Castle Baynard in the said city. In time of war the said Robert and his heirs ought to serve the city in manner as followeth--that is, the said Robert ought to come, he being the twentieth man of arms, on horseback, covered with cloth or armour, unto the great west door of St. Paul's, with his banner displayed before him, and when he is so come, mounted and apparelled, the mayor, with his aldermen and sheriffs armed with their arms, shall come out of the said church with a banner in his hand, all on foot, which banner shall be gules, the image of St. Paul gold, the face, hands, feet, and sword of silver; and as soon as the earl seeth the mayor come on foot out of the church, bearing such a banner, he shall alight from his horse and salute the mayor, saying unto him, 'Sir mayor, I am come to do my service which I owe to the city.' And the mayor and aldermen shall reply, 'We give to you as our banneret of fee in this city the banner of this city, to bear and govern, to the honour of this city to your power;' and the earl, taking the banner in his hands, shall go on foot out of the gate; and the mayor and his company following to the door, shall bring a horse to the said Robert, value twenty pounds, which horse shall be saddled with a saddle of the arms of the said earl, and shall be covered with sindals of the said arms. Also, they shall present him a purse of twenty pounds, delivering it to his chamberlain, for his charges that day."

The record goes on to say that when Robert is mounted on his £20 horse, banner in hand, he shall require the mayor to appoint a City Marshal (we have all seen him with his cocked hat and subdued commander-in-chief manner), "and the commons shall then assemble under the banner of St. Paul, Robert bearing the banner to Aldgate, and then delivering it up to some fit person. And if the army have to go out of the city, Robert shall choose two sage persons out of every ward to keep the city in the absence of the army." And these guardians were to be chosen in the priory of the Trinity, near Aldgate. And for every town or castle which the Lord of London besieged, if the siege continued a whole year, the said Robert was to receive for every siege, of the commonalty, one hundred shillings and no more. These were Robert Fitz-Walter's rights in times of war; in times of peace his rights were also clearly defined. His soke or ward in the City began at a wall of St. Paul's canonry, which led down by the brewhouse of St. Paul's to the river Thames, and so to the side of a wall, which was in the water coming down from Fleet Bridge. The ward went on by London Wall, behind the house of the Black Friars, to Ludgate, and it included all the parish of St. Andrew. Any of his sokemen indicted at the Guildhall of any offence not touching the body of the mayor or sheriff, was to be tried in the court of the said Robert.

"If any, therefore, be taken in his sokemanry, he must have his stocks and imprisonment in his soken, and he shall be brought before the mayor and judgment given him, but it must not be published till he come into the court of the said earl, and in his liberty; and if he have deserved death by treason, he is to be tied to a post in the Thames, at a good wharf, where boats are fastened, two ebbings and two flowings of the water(!) And if he be condemned for a common theft, he ought to be led to the elms, and there suffer his judgment as other thieves. And so the said earl hath honour, that he holdeth a great franchise within the city, that the mayor must do him right; and when he holdeth a great council, he ought to call the said Robert, who should be sworn thereof, against all people, saving the king and his heirs. And when he cometh to the hustings at Guildhall, the mayor ought to rise against him, and sit down near him, so long as he remaineth, all judgments being given by his mouth, according to the records of the said Guildhall; and the waifes that come while he stayeth, he ought to give them to the town bailiff, or to whom he will, by the counsel of the mayor."

This old record seems to us especially quaint and picturesque. The right of banner-bearer to the City of London was evidently a privilege not to be despised by even the proudest Norman baron, however numerous were his men-at-arms, however thick the forest of lances that followed at his back. At the gates of many a refractory Essex or Hertfordshire castle, no doubt, the Fitz-Walters flaunted that great banner, that was emblazoned with the image of St. Paul, with golden face and silver feet; and the horse valued at £20, and the pouch with twenty golden pieces, must by no means have lessened the zeal and pride of the City castellan as he led on his trusty archers, or urged forward the half-stripped, sinewy men, who toiled at the catapult, or bent down the mighty springs of the terrible mangonel. Many a time through Aldgate must the castellan have passed with glittering armour and flaunting plume, eager to earn his hundred shillings by the siege of a rebellious town.

Then Robert was knighted by Edward I., and the family continued in high honour and reputation through many troubles and public calamities. In the reign of Henry VI., when the male branch died out, Anne, the heiress, married into the Ratcliffe family, who revived the title of Fitz-Walter.

It is not known how this castle came to the Crown, but certain it is that on its being consumed by fire in 1428 (Henry VI.), it was rebuilt by Humphrey, the good duke of Gloucester. On his death it was made a royal residence by Henry VI., and by him granted to the Duke of York, his luckless rival, who lodged here with his factious retainers during the lulls in the wars of York and Lancaster. In the year 1460, the Earl of March, lodging in Castle Baynard, was informed that his army and the Earl of Warwick had declared that Henry VI. was no longer worthy to reign, and had chosen him for their king. The earl coquetted, as usurpers often do, with these offers of the crown, declaring his insufficiency for so great a charge, till yielding to the exhortations of the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Exeter, he at last consented. On the next day he went to St. Paul's in procession, to hear the Te Deum, and was then conveyed in state to Westminster, and there, in the Hall, invested with the sceptre by the confessor.

At Baynard's Castle, too, that cruel usurper, Richard III., practised the same arts as his predecessor. Shakespeare, who has darkened Richard almost to caricature, has left him the greatest wretch existing in fiction. At Baynard's Castle our great poet makes Richard receive his accomplice Buckingham, who had come from the Guildhall with the Lord Mayor and aldermen to press him to accept the crown; Richard is found by the credulous citizens with a book of prayer in his hand, standing between two bishops. This man, who was already planning the murder of Hastings and the two princes in the Tower, affected religious scruples, and with well-feigned reluctance accepted "the golden yoke of sovereignty."

Thus at Baynard's Castle begins that darker part of the Crookback's career, which led on by crime after crime to the desperate struggle at Bosworth, when, after slaying his rival's standard-bearer, Richard was beaten down by swords and axes, and his crown struck off into a hawthorn bush. The defaced corpse of the usurper, stripped and gory, was, as the old chroniclers tell us, thrown over a horse and carried by a faithful herald to be buried at Leicester. It is in vain that modern writers try to prove that Richard was gentle and accomplished, that this murder attributed to him was profitless and impossible; his name will still remain in history blackened and accursed by charges that the great poet has turned into truth, and which, indeed, are difficult to refute. That Richard might have become a great, and wise, and powerful king, is possible; but that he hesitated to commit crimes to clear his way to the throne, which had so long been struggled for by the Houses of York and Lancaster, truth forbids us for a moment to doubt. He seems to have been one of those dark, wily natures that do not trust even their most intimate accomplices, and to have worked in such darkness that only the angels know what blows he struck, or what murders he planned. One thing is certain, that Henry, Clarence, Hastings, and the princes died in terribly quick succession, and at most convenient moments.

Henry VIII. expended large sums in turning Baynard's Castle from a fortress into a palace. He frequently lodged there in burly majesty, and entertained there the King of Castile, who was driven to England by a tempest. The castle then became the property of the Pembroke family, and here, in July, 1553, the council was held in which it was resolved to proclaim Mary Queen of England, which was at once done at the Cheapside Cross by sound of trumpet.

Queen Elizabeth, who delighted to honour her special favourites, once supped at Baynard's Castle with the earl, and afterwards went on the river to show herself to her loyal subjects. It is particularly mentioned that the queen returned to her palace at ten o'clock.

The Earls of Shrewsbury afterwards occupied the castle, and resided there till it was burnt in the Great Fire. On its site stand the Carron works and the wharf of the Castle Baynard Copper Company.

Adjoining Baynard's Castle once stood a tower built by King Edward II., and bestowed by him on William de Ross, for a rose yearly, paid in lieu of all other services. The tower was in later times called "the Legates' Tower." Westward of this stood Montfichet Castle, and eastward of Baynard's Castle the Tower Royal and the Tower of London, so that the Thames was well guarded from Ludgate to the citadel. All round this neighbourhood, in the Middle Ages, great families clustered. There was Beaumont Inn, near Paul's Wharf, which, on the attainder of Lord Bardolf, Edward IV. bestowed on his favourite, Lord Hastings, whose death Richard III. (as we have seen) planned at his very door. It was afterwards Huntingdon House. Near Trigg Stairs the Abbot of Chertsey had a mansion, afterwards the residence of Lord Sandys. West of Paul's Wharf (Henry VI.) was Scroope's Inn, and near that a house belonging to the Abbey of Fescamp, given by Edward III. to Sir Thomas Burley. In Carter Lane was the mansion of the Priors of Okeborne, in Wiltshire, and not far from the present Puddle Dock was the great mansion of the Lords of Berkley, where, in the reign of Henry VI., the king-making Earl of Warwick kept tremendous state, with a thousand swords ready to fly out if he even raised a finger.

And now, leaving barons, usurpers, and plotters, we come to the Dean's Court archway of Doctors' Commons, the portal guarded by ambiguous touters for licences, men in white aprons, who look half like confectioners, and half like disbanded watermen. Here is the college of Doctors of Law, provided for the ecclesiastical lawyers in the early part of Queen Elizabeth's reign by Master Henry Harvey, Master of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, Prebendary of Ely, and Dean of the Arches; according to Sir George Howes, "a reverend, learned, and good man." The house had been inhabited by Lord Mountjoy, and Dr. Harvey obtained a lease of it for one hundred years of the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's, for the annual rent of five marks. Before this the civilians and canonists had lodged in a small inconvenient house in Paternoster Row, afterwards the "Queen's Head Tavern." Cardinal Wolsey, always magnificent in his schemes, had planned a "fair college of stone" for the ecclesiastical lawyers, the plan of which Sir Robert Cotton possessed. In this college, in 1631, says Buc, the Master of the Revels, lived in commons with the Judge of the High Court of Admiralty, being a doctor of civil law, the Dean of the Arches, the Judges of the Court of Delegates, the Vicar-General, and the Master or Custos of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury.

Doctors' Commons, says Strype, "consists of five courts--three appertaining to the see of Canterbury, one to the see of London, and one to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralties." The functions of these several courts he thus defines:--

"Here are the courts kept for the practice of civil or ecclesiastical causes. Several offices are also here kept; as the Registrary of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Registrary of the Bishop of London.

"The causes whereof the civil and ecclesiastical law take cognisance are those that follow, as they are enumerated in the 'Present State of England:'--Blasphemy, apostacy from Christianity, heresy, schism, ordinations, institutions of clerks to benefices, celebration of Divine service, matrimony, divorces, bastardy, tythes, oblations, obventions, mortuaries, dilapidations, reparation of churches, probate of wills, administrations, simony, incests, fornications, adulteries, solicitation of chastity; pensions, procurations, commutation of penance, right of pews, and other such like, reducible to those matters.

"The courts belonging to the civil and ecclesiastical laws are divers.

"First, the Court of Arches, which is the highest court belonging to the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was a court formerly kept in Bow Church in Cheapside; and the church and tower thereof being arched, the court was from thence called The Arches, and so still is called. Hither are all appeals directed in ecclesiastical matters within the province of Canterbury. To this court belongs a judge who is called The Dean of the Arches, so styled because he hath a jurisdiction over a deanery in London, consisting of thirteen parishes exempt from the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London. This court hath (besides this judge) a registrar or examiner, an actuary, a beadle or crier, and an apparitor; besides advocates and procurators or proctors. These, after they be once admitted by warrant and commission directed from the Archbishop, and by the Dean of the Arches, may then (and not before) exercise as advocates and proctors there, and in any other courts.

"Secondly, the Court of Audience. This was a court likewise of the Archbishop's, which he used to hold in his own house, where he received causes, complaints, and appeals, and had learned civilians living with him, that were auditors of the said causes before the Archbishop gave sentence. This court was kept in later times in St. Paul's. The judge belonging to this court was stiled 'Causarum, negotiorumque Cantuarien, auditor officialis.' It had also other officers, as the other courts.

"Thirdly, the next court for civil causes belonging to the Archbishop is the Prerogative Court, wherein wills and testaments are proved, and all administrations taken, which belongs to the Archbishop by his prerogative, that is, by a special pre-eminence that this see hath in certain causes above ordinary bishops within his province; this takes place where the deceased hath goods to the value of £5 out of the diocese, and being of the diocese of London, to the value of £10. If any contention grow, touching any such wills or administrations, the causes are debated and decided in this court.

"Fourthly, the Court of Faculties and Dispensations, whereby a privilege or special power is granted to a person by favour and indulgence to do that which by law otherwise he could not: as, to marry, without banns first asked in the church three several Sundays or holy days; the son to succeed his father in his benefice; for one to have two or more benefices incompatible; for non-residence, and in other such like cases.

"Fifthly, the Court of Admiralty, which was erected in the reign of Edward III. This court belongs to the Lord High Admiral of England, a high officer that hath the government of the king's navy, and the hearing of all causes relating to merchants and mariners. He takes cognisance of the death or mayhem of any man committed in the great ships riding in great rivers, beneath the bridges of the same next the sea. Also he hath power to arrest ships in great streams for the use of the king, or his wars. And in these things this court is concerned.

"To these I will add the Court of Delegates; to which high court appeals do lie from any of the former courts. This is the highest court for civil causes. It was established by an Act in the 25th Henry VIII., cap. 19, wherein it was enacted, 'That it should be lawful, for lack of justice at or in any of the Archbishop's courts, for the parties grieved to appeal to the King's Majesty in his Court of Chancery; and that, upon any such appeal, a commission under the Great Seal should be directed to such persons as should be named by the king's highness (like as in case of appeal from the Admiralty Court), to determine such appeals, and the cases concerning the same. And no further appeals to be had or made from the said commissioners for the same.' These commissioners are appointed judges only for that turn; and they are commonly of the spiritualty, or bishops; of the common law, as judges of Westminster Hall; as well as those of the civil law. And these are mixed one with another, according to the nature of the cause.

"Lastly, sometimes a Commission of Review is granted by the king under the Broad Seal, to consider and judge again what was decreed in the Court of Delegates. But this is but seldom, and upon great, and such as shall be judged just, causes by the Lord Keeper or High Chancellor. And this done purely by the king's prerogative, since by the Act for Delegates no further appeals were to be laid or made from those commissioners, as was mentioned before."

The Act 20 & 21 Vict., cap. 77, called "The Court of Probate Act, 1857," received the royal assent on the 25th of August, 1857. This is the great act which established the Court of Probate, and abolished the jurisdiction of the courts ecclesiastical.

The following, says Mr. Forster, are some of the benefits resulting from the reform of the Ecclesiastical Courts:--

That reform has reduced the depositaries for wills in this country from nearly 400 to 40.

It has brought complicated testamentary proceedings into a system governed by one vigilant court.

It has relieved the public anxiety respecting "the doom of English wills" by placing them in the custody of responsible men.

It has thrown open the courts of law to the entire legal profession.

It has given the public the right to prove wills or obtain letters of administration without professional assistance.

It has given to literary men an interesting field for research.

It has provided that which ancient Rome is said to have possessed, but which London did not possess--viz., a place of deposit for the wills of living persons.

It has extended the English favourite mode of trial--viz., trial by jury--by admitting jurors to try the validity of wills and questions of divorce.

It has made divorce not a matter of wealth but of justice: the wealthy and the poor alike now only require a clear case and "no collusion."

It has enabled the humblest wife to obtain a "protection order" for her property against an unprincipled husband.

It has afforded persons wanting to establish legitimacy, the validity of marriages, and the right to be deemed natural born subjects, the means of so doing.

Amongst its minor benefits it has enabled persons needing copies of wills which have been proved since January, 1858, in any part of the country, to obtain them from the principal registry of the Court of Probate in Doctors' Commons.

Sir Cresswell Cresswell was appointed Judge of the Probate Court at its commencement. He was likewise the first Judge of the Divorce Court.

The College property--the freehold portion, subject to a yearly rent-charge of £105, and to an annual payment of 5s. 4d., both payable to the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's--was put up for sale by auction, in one lot, on November 28, 1862. The place has now been demolished, and the materials have been sold, the site being required in forming the new thoroughfare from Earl Street, Blackfriars, to the Mansion House; the roadway passes directly through the College garden.

Chaucer, in his "Canterbury Tales," gives an unfavourable picture of the old sompnour (or apparitor to the Ecclesiastical Court):--

"A sompnour was ther with us in that place, Thad hadde a fire-red cherubimes face; For sausefleme he was, with eyen narwe. As hote he was, and likerous as a sparwe, With scalled browes blake, and pilled berd; Of his visage children were sore aferd. Ther n'as quiksilver, litarge, ne brimston, Boras, ceruse, ne oile of Tartre non, Ne oinement that wolde clense or bite, That him might helpen of his whelkes white, Ne of the nobbes sitting on his chekes. Wel loved he garlike, onions, and lekes, And for to drinke strong win as rede as blood. Than wold he speke, and crie as he were wood. And when that he wel dronken had the win, Than wold he speken no word but Latin. A fewe termes coude he, two or three, That he had lerned out of some decree; No wonder is, he herd it all the day. And eke ye knowen wel, how that a jay Can clepen watte, as well as can the pope. But who so wolde in other thing him grope, Than hadde he spent all his philosophie, Ay, Questio quid juris wold he crie."

In 1585 there were but sixteen or seventeen doctors; in 1694 that swarm had increased to forty-four. In 1595 there were but five proctors; in 1694 there were forty-three. Yet even in Henry VIII.'s time the proctors were complained of, for being so numerous and clamorous that neither judges nor advocates could be heard. Cranmer, to remedy this evil, attempted to gradually reduce the number to ten, which was petitioned against as insufficient and tending to "delays and prolix suits."

"Doctors' Commons," says Defoe, "was a name very well known in Holland, Denmark, and Sweden, because all ships that were taken during the last wars, belonging to those nations, on suspicion of trading with France, were brought to trial here; which occasioned that sarcastic saying abroad that we have often heard in conversation, that England was a fine country, but a man called Doctors' Commons was a devil, for there was no getting out of his clutches, let one's cause be never so good, without paying a great deal of money."

A writer in Knight's "London" (1843) gives a pleasant sketch of the Court of Arches in that year. The Common Hall, where the Court of Arches, the Prerogative Court, the Consistory Court, and the Admiralty Court all held their sittings, was a comfortable place, with dark polished wainscoting reaching high up the walls, while above hung the richly emblazoned arms of learned doctors dead and gone; the fire burned cheerily in the central stove. The dresses of the unengaged advocates in scarlet and ermine, and of the proctors in ermine and black, were picturesque. The opposing advocates sat in high galleries, and the absence of prisoner's dock and jury-box--nay, even of a public--impressed the stranger with a sense of agreeable novelty.

Apropos of the Court of Arches once held in Bow Church. "The Commissary Court of Surrey," says Mr. Jeaffreson, in his "Book about the Clergy," "still holds sittings in the Church of St. Saviour's, Southwark; and any of my London readers, who are at the small pains to visit that noble church during a sitting of the Commissary's Court, may ascertain for himself that, notwithstanding our reverence for consecrated places, we can still use them as chambers of justice. The court, of course, is a spiritual court, but the great, perhaps the greater, part of the business transacted at its sittings is of an essentially secular kind."

The nature of the business in the Court of Arches may be best shown by the brief summary given in the report for three years--1827, 1828, and 1829. There were 21 matrimonial cases; 1 of defamation; 4 of brawling; 5 church-smiting; 1 church-rate; 1 legacy; 1 tithes; 4 correction. Of these 17 were appeals from the courts, and 21 original suits.

The cases in the Court of Arches were often very trivial. "There was a case," says Dr. Nicholls, "in which the cause had originally commenced in the Archdeacon's Court at Totnes, and thence there had been an appeal to the Court at Exeter, thence to the Arches, and thence to the Delegates; after all, the issue having been simply, which of two persons had the right of hanging his hat on a particular peg." The other is of a sadder cast, and calculated to arouse a just indignation. Our authority is Mr. T.W. Sweet (Report on Eccles. Courts), who states: "In one instance, many years since, a suit was instituted which I thought produced a great deal of inconvenience and distress. It was the case of a person of the name of Russell, whose wife was supposed to have had her character impugned at Yarmouth by a Mr. Bentham. He had no remedy at law for the attack upon the lady's character, and a suit for defamation was instituted in the Commons. It was supposed the suit would be attended with very little expense, but I believe in the end it greatly contributed to ruin the party who instituted it; I think he said his proctor's bill would be £700. It went through several courts, and ultimately, I believe (according to the decision or agreement), each party paid his own costs." It appears from the evidence subsequently given by the proctor, that he very humanely declined pressing him for payment, and never was paid; and yet the case, through the continued anxiety and loss of time incurred for six or seven years (for the suit lasted that time), mainly contributed, it appears, to the party's ruin.

As the law once stood, says a writer in Knight's "London," if a person died possessed of property lying entirely within the diocese where he died, probate or proof of the will is made, or administration taken out, before the bishop or ordinary of that diocese; but if there were goods and chattels only to the amount of £5 (except in the diocese of London, where the amount is £10)--in legal parlance, bona notabilia--within any other diocese, and which is generally the case, then the jurisdiction lies in the Prerogative Court of the Archbishop of the province--that is, either at York or at Doctors' Commons; the latter, we need hardly say, being the Court of the Archbishop of Canterbury. The two Prerogative Courts therefore engross the great proportion of the business of this kind through the country, for although the Ecclesiastical Courts have no power over the bequests of or succession to unmixed real property, if such were left, cases of that nature seldom or never occur. And, as between the two provinces, not only is that of Canterbury much more important and extensive, but since the introduction of the funding system, and the extensive diffusion of such property, nearly all wills of importance belonging even to the Province of York are also proved in Doctors' Commons, on account of the rule of the Bank of England to acknowledge no probate of wills but from thence. To this cause, amongst others, may be attributed the striking fact that the business of this court between the three years ending with 1789, and the three years ending with 1829, had been doubled. Of the vast number of persons affected, or at least interested in this business, we see not only from the crowded rooms, but also from the statement given in the report of the select committee on the Admiralty and other Courts of Doctors' Commons in 1833, where it appears that in one year (1829) the number of searches amounted to 30,000. In the same year extracts were taken from wills in 6,414 cases.

On the south side is the entry to the Prerogative Court, and at No. 10 the Faculty Office. They have no marriage licences at the Faculty Office of an earlier date than October, 1632, and up to 1695 they are only imperfectly preserved. There is a MS. index to the licences prior to 1695, for which the charge for a search is 4s. 6d. Since 1695 the licences have been regularly kept, and the fee for searching is a shilling.

The great Admiralty judge of the early part of this century was Dr. Johnson's friend, Lord Stowell, the brother of Lord Eldon.

According to Sir Herbert Jenner Fust, Lord Stowell's decisions during the war have since formed a code of international law, almost universally recognised. In one year alone (1806) he pronounced 2,206 decrees. Lord Stowell (then Dr. Scott) was made Advocate-General in Doctors' Commons in 1788, and Vicar-General or official principal for the Archbishop of Canterbury. Soon after he became Master of the Faculties, and in 1798 was nominated Judge of the High Court of Admiralty, the highest dignity of the Doctors' Commons Courts. During the great French war, it is said Dr. Scott sometimes received as much as £1,000 a case for fees and perquisites in a prize cause. He left at his death personal property exceeding £200,000. He used to say that he admired above all other investments "the sweet simplicity of the Three per Cents.," and when purchasing estate after estate, observed "he liked plenty of elbow-room."

"It was," says Warton, "by visiting Sir Robert Chambers, when a fellow of University, that Johnson became acquainted with Lord Stowell; and when Chambers went to India, Lord Stowell, as he expressed it to me, seemed to succeed to his place in Johnson's friendship."

"Sir William Scott (Lord Stowell)," says Boswell, "told me that when he complained of a headache in the post-chaise, as they were travelling together to Scotland, Johnson treated him in a rough manner--'At your age, sir, I had no headache.'

"Mr. Scott's amiable manners and attachment to our Socrates," says Boswell in Edinburgh, "at once united me to him. He told me that before I came in the doctor had unluckily had a bad specimen of Scottish cleanliness. He then drank no fermented liquor. He asked to have his lemonade made sweeter; upon which the waiter, with his greasy fingers, lifted a lump of sugar and put it into it. The doctor, in indignation, threw it out. Scott said he was afraid he would have knocked the waiter down."

Again Boswell says:--"We dined together with Mr. Scott, now Sir William Scott, his Majesty's Advocate-General, at his chambers in the Temple--nobody else there. The company being so small, Johnson was not in such high spirits as he had been the preceding day, and for a considerable time little was said. At last he burst forth--'Subordination is sadly broken down in this age. No man, now, has the same authority which his father had--except a gaoler. No master has it over his servants; it is diminished in our colleges; nay, in our grammar schools.'"

"Sir William Scott informs me that on the death of the late Lord Lichfield, who was Chancellor of the University of Oxford, he said to Johnson, 'What a pity it is, sir, that you did not follow the profession of the law! You might have been Lord Chancellor of Great Britain, and attained to the dignity of the peerage; and now that the title of Lichfield, your native city, is extinct, you might have had it.' Johnson upon this seemed much agitated, and in an angry tone exclaimed, 'Why will you vex me by suggesting this when it is too late?'"

The strange marriage of Lord Stowell and the Marchioness of Sligo has been excellently described by Mr. Jeaffreson in his "Book of Lawyers."

"On April 10, 1813," says our author, "the decorous Sir William Scott, and Louisa Catherine, widow of John, Marquis of Sligo, and daughter of Admiral Lord Howe, were united in the bonds of holy wedlock, to the infinite amusement of the world of fashion, and to the speedy humiliation of the bridegroom. So incensed was Lord Eldon at his brother's folly that he refused to appear at the wedding; and certainly the chancellor's displeasure was not without reason, for the notorious absurdity of the affair brought ridicule on the whole of the Scott family connection. The happy couple met for the first time in the Old Bailey, when Sir William Scott and Lord Ellenborough presided at the trial of the marchioness's son, the young Marquis of Sligo, who had incurred the anger of the law by luring into his yacht, in Mediterranean waters, two of the king's seamen. Throughout the hearing of that cause célèbre, the Marchioness sat in the fetid court of the Old Bailey, in the hope that her presence might rouse amongst the jury or in the bench feelings favourable to her son. This hope was disappointed. The verdict having been given against the young peer, he was ordered to pay a fine of £5,000, and undergo four months' incarceration in Newgate, and--worse than fine and imprisonment--was compelled to listen to a parental address, from Sir William Scott, on the duties and responsibilities of men of high station. Either under the influence of sincere admiration for the judge, or impelled by desire of vengeance on the man who had presumed to lecture her son in a court of justice, the marchioness wrote a few hasty words of thanks to Sir William Scott, for his salutary exhortation to her boy. She even went so far as to say that she wished the erring marquis could always have so wise a counsellor at his side. This communication was made upon a slip of paper, which the writer sent to the judge by an usher of the court. Sir William read the note as he sat on the bench, and having looked towards the fair scribe, he received from her a glance and a smile that were fruitful of much misery to him. Within four months the courteous Sir William Scott was tied fast to a beautiful, shrill, voluble termagant, who exercised marvellous ingenuity in rendering him wretched and contemptible. Reared in a stately school of old-world politeness, the unhappy man was a model of decorum and urbanity. He took reasonable pride in the perfection of his tone and manner, and the marchioness--whose malice did not lack cleverness--was never more happy than when she was gravely expostulating with him, in the presence of numerous auditors, on his lamentable want of style and gentleman-like bearing. It is said that, like Coke and Holt under similar circumstances, Sir William preferred the quietude of his chambers to the society of an unruly wife, and that in the cellar of his inn he sought compensation for the indignities and sufferings which he endured at home."

"Sir William Scott," says Mr. Surtees, then "removed from Doctors' Commons to his wife's house in Grafton Street, and, ever economical in his domestic expenses, brought with him his own door-plate, and placed it under the pre-existing plate of Lady Sligo, instead of getting a new door-plate for them both. Immediately after the marriage, Mr. Jekyll, so well known in the earliest part of this century for his puns and humour, happening to observe the position of these plates, condoled with Sir William on having to 'knock under.' There was too much truth in the joke for it to be inwardly relished, and Sir William ordered the plates to be transposed. A few weeks later Jekyll accompanied his friend Scott as far as the door, when the latter observed, 'You see I don't knock under now.' 'Not now,' was the answer received by the antiquated bridegroom; 'now you knock up.'"

There is a good story current of Lord Stowell in Newcastle, that, when advanced in age and rank, he visited the school of his boyhood. An old woman, whose business was to clean out and keep the key of the school-room, conducted him. She knew the name and station of the personage whom she accompanied. She naturally expected some recompense--half-a-crown perhaps--perhaps, since he was so great a man, five shillings. But he lingered over the books, and asked a thousand questions about the fate of his old school-fellows; and as he talked her expectation rose--half-a-guinea--a guinea--nay, possibly (since she had been so long connected with the school in which the great man took so deep an interest) some little annuity! He wished her good-bye kindly, called her a good woman, and slipped a piece of money into her hand--it was a sixpence!

"Lord Stowell," says Mr. Surtees, "was a great eater. As Lord Eldon had for his favourite dish liver and bacon, so his brother had a favourite quite as homely, with which his intimate friends, when he dined with them, would treat him. It was a rich pie, compounded of beef steaks and layers of oysters. Yet the feats which Lord Stowell performed with the knife and fork were eclipsed by those which he would afterwards display with the bottle, and two bottles of port formed with him no uncommon potation. By wine, however, he was never, in advanced life at any rate, seen to be affected. His mode of living suited and improved his constitution, and his strength long increased with his years."

At the western end of Holborn there was a room generally let for exhibitions. At the entrance Lord Stowell presented himself, eager to see the "green monster serpent," which had lately issued cards of invitation to the public. As he was pulling out his purse to pay for his admission, a sharp but honest north-country lad, whose business it was to take the money, recognised him as an old customer, and, knowing his name, thus addressed him: "We can't take your shilling, my lord; 'tis t' old serpent, which you have seen six times before, in other colours; but ye can go in and see her." He entered, saved his money, and enjoyed his seventh visit to the "real original old sea-sarpint."

Of Lord Stowell it has been said by Lord Brougham that "his vast superiority was apparent when, as from an eminence, he was called to survey the whole field of dispute, and to unravel the variegated facts, disentangle the intricate mazes, and array the conflicting reasons, which were calculated to distract or suspend men's judgment." And Brougham adds that "if ever the praise of being luminous could be bestowed upon human compositions, it was upon his."

It would be impossible with the space at our command to give anything like a tithe of the good stories of this celebrated judge. We must pass on to other famous men who have sat on the judicial bench in Doctors' Commons.

Of Sir Herbert Jenner Fust, one of the great ecclesiastical judges of modern times, Mr. Jeaffreson tells a good story:--

"In old Sir Herbert's later days it was no mere pleasantry, or bold figure of speech, to say that the court had risen, for he used to be lifted from his chair and carried bodily from the chamber of justice by two brawny footmen. Of course, as soon as the judge was about to be elevated by his bearers, the bar rose; and, also as a matter of course, the bar continued to stand until the strong porters had conveyed their weighty and venerable burden along the platform behind one of the rows of advocates and out of sight. As the trio worked their laborious way along the platform, there seemed to be some danger that they might blunder and fall through one of the windows into the space behind the court; and at a time when Sir Herbert and Dr. ---- were at open variance, that waspish advocate had, on one occasion, the bad taste to keep his seat at the rising of the court, and with characteristic malevolence of expression say to the footmen, 'Mind, my men, and take care of that judge of yours; or, by Jove, you'll pitch him out of the window.' It is needless to say that this brutal speech did not raise the speaker in the opinion of the hearers."

Dr. Lushington, recently deceased, aged ninety-one, is another ecclesiastical judge deserving notice. He entered Parliament in 1807, and retired in 1841. He began his political career when the Portland Administration (Perceval, Castlereagh, and Canning) ruled, and was always a steadfast reformer through good and evil report. He was one of the counsel for Queen Caroline, and aided Brougham and Denman in the popular triumph. He worked hard against slavery and for Parliamentary reform, and had not only heard many of Sir Robert Peel and Lord John Russell's earliest speeches, but also those of Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Disraeli. "Though it seemed," says the Daily News, "a little incongruous that questions of faith and ritual in the Church, and those of seizures or accidents at sea, should be adjudicated on by the same person, it was always felt that his decisions were based on ample knowledge of the law and diligent attention to the special circumstances of the individual case. As Dean of Arches he was called to pronounce judgment in some of the most exciting ecclesiastical suits of modern times. When the first prosecutions were directed against the Ritualistic innovators, as they were then called, of St. Barnabas, both sides congratulated themselves that the judgment would be given by so venerable and experienced a judge; and perhaps the dissatisfaction of both sides with the judgment proved its justice. In the prosecution of the Rev. H.B. Wilson and Dr. Rowland Williams, Dr. Lushington again pronounced a judgment which, contrary to popular expectation, was reversed on appeal by the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council."

But how can we leave Doctors' Commons without remembering--as we see the touters for licences, who look like half pie-men, half watermen--Sam Weller's inimitable description of the trap into which his father fell?

"Paul's Churchyard, sir," says Sam to Jingle; "a low archway on the carriage-side; bookseller's at one corner, hotel on the other, and two porters in the middle as touts for licences."

"Touts for licences!" said the gentleman.

"Touts for licences," replied Sam. "Two coves in white aprons, touches their hats when you walk in--'Licence, sir, licence?' Queer sort them, and their mas'rs, too, sir--Old Bailey proctors--and no mistake."

"What do they do?" inquired the gentleman.

"Do! you, sir! That ain't the worst on't, neither. They puts things into old gen'lm'n's heads as they never dreamed of. My father, sir, was a coachman, a widower he wos, and fat enough for anything--uncommon fat, to be sure. His missus dies, and leaves him four hundred pound. Down he goes to the Commons to see the lawyer, and draw the blunt--very smart--top-boots on--nosegay in his button-hole--broad-brimmed tile--green shawl--quite the gen'lm'n. Goes through the archway, thinking how he should inwest the money; up comes the touter, touches his hat-'Licence, sir, licence?' 'What's that?' says my father. 'Licence, sir,' says he. 'What licence,' says my father. 'Marriage licence,' says the touter. 'Dash my weskit,' says my father, 'I never thought o' that.' 'I thinks you want one, sir,' says the touter. My father pulls up and thinks a bit. 'No,' says he, 'damme, I'm too old, b'sides I'm a many sizes too large,' says he. 'Not a bit on it, sir,' says the touter. 'Think not?' says my father. 'I'm sure not,' says he; 'we married a gen'lm'n twice your size last Monday.' 'Did you, though?' said my father. 'To be sure we did,' says the touter, 'you're a babby to him--this way, sir--this way!' And sure enough my father walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back office, vere a feller sat among dirty papers, and tin boxes, making believe he was busy. 'Pray take a seat, vile I makes out the affidavit, sir,' says the lawyer. 'Thankee, sir,' says my father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth wide open, at the names on the boxes. 'What's your name, sir?' says the lawyer. 'Tony Weller,' says my father. 'Parish?' says the lawyer. 'Belle Savage,' says my father; for he stopped there when he drove up, and he know'd nothing about parishes, he didn't. 'And what's the lady's name?' says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. 'Blessed if I know,' says he. 'Not know!' says the lawyer. 'No more nor you do,' says my father; 'can't I put that in arterwards?' 'Impossible!' says the lawyer. 'Wery well,' says my father, after he'd thought a moment, 'put down Mrs. Clarke.' 'What Clarke?' says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink. 'Susan Clarke, Markis o' Granby, Dorking,' says my father; 'she'll have me if I ask, I dessay--I never said nothing to her; but she'll have me, I know.' The licence was made out, and she did have him, and what's more she's got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam, when he had concluded, "but when I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new barrow with the wheel greased."

Doctors' Commons is now a ruin. The spider builds where the proctor once wove his sticky web. The college, rebuilt after the Great Fire, is described by Elmes as an old brick building in the Carolean style, the interior consisting of two quadrangles once occupied by the doctors, a hall for the hearing of causes, a spacious library, a refectory, and other useful apartments. In 1867, when Doctors' Commons was deserted by the proctors, a clever London essayist sketched the ruins very graphically, at the time when the Metropolitan Fire Brigade occupied the lawyers' deserted town:--

"A deserted justice-hall, with dirty mouldering walls, broken doors and windows, shattered floor, and crumbling ceiling. The dust and fog of long-forgotten causes lowering everywhere, making the small leaden-framed panes of glass opaque, the dark wainscot grey, coating the dark rafters with a heavy dingy fur, and lading the atmosphere with a close unwholesome smell. Time and neglect have made the once-white ceiling like a huge map, in which black and swollen rivers and tangled mountain ranges are struggling for pre-eminence. Melancholy, decay, and desolation are on all sides. The holy of holies, where the profane vulgar could not tread, but which was sacred to the venerable gowned figures who cozily took it in turns to dispense justice and to plead, is now open to any passer-by. Where the public were permitted to listen is bare and shabby as a well-plucked client. The inner door of long-discoloured baize flaps listlessly on its hinges, and the true law-court little entrance-box it half shuts in is a mere nest for spiders. A large red shaft, with the word 'broken' rudely scrawled on it in chalk, stands where the judgment-seat was formerly; long rows of ugly piping, like so many shiny dirty serpents, occupy the seats of honour round it; staring red vehicles, with odd brass fittings: buckets, helmets, axes, and old uniforms fill up the remainder of the space. A very few years ago this was the snuggest little law-nest in the world; now it is a hospital and store-room for the Metropolitan Fire Brigade. For we are in Doctors' Commons, and lawyers themselves will be startled to learn that the old Arches Court, the old Admiralty Court, the old Prerogative Court, the old Consistory Court, the old harbour for delegates, chancellors, vicars-general, commissaries, prothonotaries, cursitors, seal-keepers, serjeants-at-mace, doctors, deans, apparitors, proctors, and what not, is being applied to such useful purposes now. Let the reader leave the bustle of St. Paul's Churchyard, and, turning under the archway where a noble army of white-aproned touters formerly stood, cross Knightrider Street and enter the Commons. The square itself is a memorial of the mutability of human affairs. Its big sombre houses are closed. The well-known names of the learned doctors who formerly practised in the adjacent courts are still on the doors, but have, in each instance, 'All letters and parcels to be addressed' Belgravia, or to one of the western inns of court, as their accompaniment. The one court in which ecclesiastical, testamentary, and maritime law was tried alternately, and which, as we have seen, is now ending its days shabbily, but usefully, is through the further archway to the left. Here the smack Henry and Betsy would bring its action for salvage against the schooner Mary Jane; here a favoured gentleman was occasionally 'admitted a proctor exercent by virtue of a rescript;' here, as we learnt with awe, proceedings for divorce were 'carried on in poenam,' and 'the learned judge, without entering into the facts, declared himself quite satisfied with the evidence, and pronounced for the separation;' and here the Dean of Peculiars settled his differences with the eccentrics who, I presume, were under his charge, and to whom he owed his title."

Such are the changes that take place in our Protean city! Already we have seen a palace in Blackfriars turn into a prison, and the old courts of Fleet Street, once mansions of the rich and great, now filled with struggling poor. The great synagogue in the Old Jewry became a tavern; the palace of the Savoy a barracks. These changes it is our special province to record, as to trace them is our peculiar function.

The Prerogative Will Office contains many last wills and testaments of great interest. There is a will written in short-hand, and one on a bed-post; but what are these to that of Shakspeare, three folio sheets, and his signature to each sheet? Why he left only his best bed to his wife long puzzled the antiquaries, but has since been explained. There is (or rather was, for it has now gone to Paris) the will of Napoleon abusing "the oligarch" Wellington, and leaving 10,000 francs to the French officer Cantello, who was accused of a desire to assassinate the "Iron Duke." There are also the wills of Vandyke the painter, who died close by; Inigo Jones, Ben Jonson's rival in the Court masques of James and Charles; Sir Isaac Newton, Dr. Johnson, good old Izaak Walton, and indeed almost everybody who had property in the south.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXV. HERALDS' COLLEGE

Early Homes of the Heralds--The Constitution of the Herald's College--Garter King at Arms--Clarencieux and Norroy--The Pursuivants--Duties and Privileges of Heralds--Good, Bad, and Jovial Heralds--A Notable Norroy King at Arms--The Tragic End of Two Famous Heralds--The College of Arms' Library.

Turning from the black dome of St. Paul's, and the mean archway of Dean's Court, into a region of gorgeous blazonments, we come to that quiet and grave house, like an old nobleman's, that stands aside from the new street from the Embankment, like an aristocrat shrinking from a crowd. The original Heralds' College, Cold Harbour House, founded by Richard II., stood in Poultney Lane, but the heralds were turned out by Henry VII., who gave their mansion to Bishop Tunstal, whom he had driven from Durham Place. The heralds then retired to Ronceval Priory, at Charing Cross (afterwards Northumberland Place). Queen Mary, however, in 1555 gave Gilbert Dethick, Garter King of Arms, and the other heralds and pursuivants, their present college, formerly Derby House, which had belonged to the first Earl of Derby, who married Lady Margaret, Countess of Richmond, mother to King Henry VII. The grant specified that there the heralds might dwell together, and "at meet times congregate, speak, confer, and agree among themselves, for the good government of the faculty."

The College of Arms, on the east side of St. Bennet's Hill, was swept before the Great Fire of 1666; but all the records and books, except one or two, were preserved. The estimate for the rebuilding was only £5,000, but the City being drained of money, it was attempted to raise the money by subscription; only £700 was so raised, the rest was paid from office fees, Sir William Dugdale building the north-west corner at his own charge, and Sir Henry St. George, Clarencieux, giving £530. This handsome and dignified brick building, completed in 1683, is ornamented with Ionic pilasters, that support an angular pediment, and the "hollow arch of the gateway" was formerly considered a curiosity. The central wainscoted hall is where the Courts of Sessions were at one time held; to the left is the library and search-room, round the top of which runs a gallery; on either side are the apartments of the kings, heralds, and pursuivants.

"This corporation," we are told, "consists of thirteen members--viz., three kings at arms, six heralds at arms, and four pursuivants at arms; they are nominated by the Earl Marshal of England, as ministers subordinate to him in the execution of their offices, and hold their places patent during their good behaviour. They are thus distinguished:--

Kings at Arms. Garter. Clarencieux. Norroy.

Heralds. Somerset. Richmond. Lancaster. Windsor. Chester. York.

Pursuivants. Rouge Dragon. Blue Mantle. Portcullis. Rouge Croix.

"However ancient the offices of heralds may be, we have hardly any memory of their titles or names before Edward III. In his reign military glory and heraldry were in high esteem, and the patents of the King of Arms at this day refer to the reign of King Edward III. The king created the two provincials, by the titles of Clarencieux and Norroy; he instituted Windsor and Chester heralds, and Blue Mantle pursuivant, beside several others by foreign titles. From this time we find the officers of arms employed at home and abroad, both in military and civil affairs: military, with our kings and generals in the army, carrying defiances and making truces, or attending tilts, tournaments, and duels; as civil officers, in negotiations, and attending our ambassadors in foreign Courts; at home, waiting upon the king at Court and Parliament, and directing public ceremonies.

"In the fifth year of King Henry V. armorial bearings were put under regulations, and it was declared that no persons should bear coat arms that could not justify their right thereto by prescription or grant; and from this time they were communicated to persons as insignia, gentilitia, and hereditary marks of noblesse. About the same time, or soon after, this victorious prince instituted the office of Garter King of Arms; and at a Chapter of the Kings and Heralds, held at the siege of Rouen in Normandy, on the 5th of January, 1420, they formed themselves into a regular society, with a common seal, receiving Garter as their chief.

"The office of Garter King at Arms was instituted for the service of the Most Noble Order of the Garter; and, for the dignity of that order, he was made sovereign within the office of arms, over all the other officers, subject to the Crown of England, by the name of Garter King at Arms of England. By the constitution of his office he must be a native of England, and a gentleman bearing arms. To him belongs the correction of arms, and all ensigns of arms, usurped or borne unjustly, and the power of granting arms to deserving persons, and supporters to the nobility and Knights of the Bath. It is likewise his office to go next before the sword in solemn processions, none interposing except the marshal; to administer the oath to all the officers of arms; to have a habit like the registrar of the order, baron's service in the Court, lodgings in Windsor Castle; to bear his white rod, with a banner of the ensigns of the order thereon, before the sovereign; also, when any lord shall enter the Parliament chamber, to assign him his place, according to his degree; to carry the ensigns of the order to foreign princes, and to do, or procure to be done, what the sovereign shall enjoin relating to the order, with other duties incident to his office of principal King of Arms. The other two kings are called Provincial kings, who have particular provinces assigned them, which together comprise the whole kingdom of England--that of Clarencieux comprehending all from the river Trent southwards; that of Norroy, or North Roy, all from the river Trent northward. These Kings at Arms are distinguished from each other by their respective badges, which they may wear at all times, either in a gold chain or a ribbon, Garters being blue, and the Provincials purple.

"The six heralds take place according to seniority in office. They are created with the same ceremonies as the kings, taking the oath of an herald, and are invested with a tabard of the Royal arms embroidered upon satin, not so rich as the kings', but better than the pursuivants', with a silver collar of SS.; they are esquires by creation.

"The four pursuivants are also created by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl Marshal, when they take their oath of a pursuivant, and are invested with a tabard of the Royal arms upon damask. It is the duty of the heralds and pursuivants to attend on the public ceremonials, one of each class together by a monthly rotation.

"These heralds are the king's servants in ordinary, and therefore, in the vacancy of the office of Earl Marshal, have been sworn into their offices by the Lord Chamberlain. Their meetings are termed Chapters, which they hold the first Thursday in every month, or oftener if necessary, wherein all matters are determined by a majority of voices, each king having two voices."

One of the earliest instances of the holding an heraldic court was that in the time of Richard II., when the Scropes and Grosvenors had a dispute about the right to bear certain arms. John of Gaunt and Chaucer were witnesses on this occasion; the latter, who had served in France during the wars of Edward III., and had been taken prisoner, deposing to seeing a certain cognizance displayed during a certain period of the campaign.

The system of heraldic visitations, when the pedigrees of the local gentry were tested, and the arms they bore approved or cancelled, originated in the reign of Henry VIII. The monasteries, with their tombs and tablets and brasses, and their excellent libraries, had been the great repositories of the provincial genealogies, more especially of the abbeys' founders and benefactors. These records were collected and used by the heralds, who thus as it were preserved and carried on the monastic genealogical traditions. These visitations were of great use to noble families in proving their pedigrees, and preventing disputes about property. The visitations continued till 1686 (James II.), but a few returns, says Mr. Noble, were made as late as 1704. Why they ceased in the reign of William of Orange is not known; perhaps the respect for feudal rank decreased as the new dynasty grew more powerful. The result of the cessation of these heraldic assizes, however, is that American gentlemen, whose Puritan ancestors left England during the persecutions of Charles II., are now unable to trace their descent, and the heraldic gap can never be filled up.

Three instances only of the degradation of knights are recorded in three centuries' records of the Court of Honour. The first was that of Sir Andrew Barclay, in 1322; of Sir Ralph Grey, in 1464; and of Sir Francis Michell, in 1621, the last knight being convicted of heinous offences and misdemeanours. On this last occasion the Knights' Marshals' men cut off the offender's sword, took off his spurs and flung them away, and broke his sword over his head, at the same time proclaiming him "an infamous arrant knave."

The Earl Marshal's office--sometimes called the Court of Honour--took cognizance of words supposed to reflect upon the nobility. Sir Richard Grenville was fined heavily for having said that the Duke of Suffolk was a base lord; and Sir George Markham in the enormous sum of £10,000, for saying, when he had horsewhipped the huntsman of Lord Darcy, that he would do the same to his master if he tried to justify his insolence. In 1622 the legality of the court was tried in the Star Chamber by a contumacious herald, who claimed arrears of fees, and to King James's delight the legality of the court was fully established. In 1646 (Charles I.) Mr. Hyde (afterwards Lord Chancellor Clarendon) proposed doing away with the court, vexatious causes multiplying, and very arbitrary authority being exercised. He particularly cited a case of great oppression, in which a rich citizen had been ruined in his estate and imprisoned, for merely calling an heraldic swan a goose. After the Restoration, says Mr. Planché, in Knight's "London," the Duke of Norfolk, hereditary Earl Marshal, hoping to re-establish the court, employed Dr. Plott, the learned but credulous historian of Staffordshire, to collect the materials for a history of the court, which, however, was never completed. The court, which had outlived its age, fell into desuetude, and the last cause heard concerning the right of bearing arms (Blount versus Blunt) was tried in the year 1720 (George I.). In the old arbitrary times the Earl Marshal's men have been known to stop the carriage of a parvenu, and by force deface his illegally assumed arms.

Heralds' fees in the Middle Ages were very high. At the coronation of Richard II. they received £100, and 100 marks at that of the queen. On royal birthdays and on great festivals they also required largess. The natural result of this was that, in the reign of Henry V., William Burgess, Garter King of Arms, was able to entertain the Emperor Sigismund in sumptuous state at his house at Kentish Town.

The escutcheons on the south wall of the college--one bearing the legs of Man, and the other the eagle's claw of the House of Stanley--are not ancient, and were merely put up to heraldically mark the site of old Derby House.

In the Rev. Mark Noble's elaborate "History of the College of Arms" we find some curious stories of worthy and unworthy heralds. Among the evil spirits was Sir William Dethick, Garter King at Arms, who provoked Elizabeth by drawing out treasonable emblazonments for the Duke of Norfolk, and James I. by hinting doubts, as it is supposed, against the right of the Stuarts to the crown. He was at length displaced. He seems to have been an arrogant, stormy, proud man, who used at public ceremonials to buffet the heralds and pursuivants who blundered or offended him. He was buried at St. Paul's, in 1612, near the grave of Edward III.'s herald, Sir Pain Roet, Guienne King at Arms, and Chaucer's father-in-law. Another black sheep was Cook, Clarencieux King at Arms in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, who was accused of granting arms to any one for a large fee, and of stealing forty or fifty heraldic books from the college library. There was also Ralph Brooke, York Herald in the same reign, a malicious and ignorant man, who attempted to confute some of Camden's genealogies in the "Britannia." He broke open and stole some muniments from the office, and finally, for two felonies, was burnt in the hand at Newgate.

To such rascals we must oppose men of talent and scholarship like the great Camden. This grave and learned antiquary was the son of a painter in the Old Bailey, and, as second master of Westminster School, became known to the wisest and most learned men of London, Ben Jonson honouring him as a father, and Burleigh, Bacon, and Lord Broke regarding him as a friend. His "Britannia" is invaluable, and his "Annals of Elizabeth" are full of the heroic and soaring spirit of that great age. Camden's house, at Chislehurst, was that in which the Emperor Napoleon has recently died.

Sir William Le Neve (Charles I.), Clarencieux, was another most learned herald. He is said to have read the king's proclamation at Edgehill with great marks of fear. His estate was sequestered by the Parliament, and he afterwards went mad from loyal and private grief and vexation. In Charles II.'s reign we find the famous antiquary, Elias Ashmole, Windsor Herald for several years. He was the son of a Lichfield saddler, and was brought up as a chorister-boy. That impostor, Lilly, calls him the "greatest virtuoso and curioso" that was ever known or read of in England; for he excelled in music, botany, chemistry, heraldry, astrology, and antiquities. His "History of the Order of the Garter" formed no doubt part of his studies at the College of Arms.

In the same reign as Ashmole, that great and laborious antiquary, Sir William Dugdale, was Garter King of Arms. In early life he became acquainted with Spelman, an antiquary as profound as himself, and with the same mediæval power of work. He fought for King Charles in the Civil Wars. His great work was the "Monasticon Anglicanum," three volumes folio, which disgusted the Puritans and delighted the Catholics. His "History of Warwickshire" was considered a model of county histories. His "Baronage of England" contained many errors. In his visitations he was very severe in defacing fictitious arms.

Francis Sandford, first Rouge Dragon Pursuivant, and then Lancaster Herald (Charles II., James II.), published an excellent "Genealogical History of England," and curious accounts of the funeral of General Monk and the coronation of James II. He was so attached to James that he resigned his office at the Revolution, and died, true to the last, old, poor and neglected, somewhere in Bloomsbury, in 1693.

Sir John Vanbrugh, the witty dramatist, for building Castle Howard, was made Clarencieux King of Arms, to the great indignation of the heralds, whose pedantry he ridiculed. He afterwards sold his place for £2,000, avowing ignorance of his profession and his constant neglect of his official duties.

In the same reign, to Peter Le Neve (Norroy) we are indebted for the careful preservation of the invaluable "Paxton Letters," of the reigns of Henry VI., Edward IV., and Richard III., purchased and afterwards published by Sir John Fenn.

Another eminent herald was John Anstis, created Garter in 1718 (George I.), after being imprisoned as a Jacobite. He wrote learned works on the Orders of the Garter and the Bath, and left behind him valuable materials--his MS. for the "History of the College of Arms," now preserved in the library.

Francis Grose, that roundabout, jovial friend of Burns, was Richmond Herald for many years, but he resigned his appointment in 1763, to become Adjutant and Paymaster of the Hampshire Militia. Grose was the son of a Swiss jeweller, who had settled in London. His "Views of Antiquities in England and Wales" helped to restore a taste for Gothic art. He died in 1791.

Of Oldys, that eccentric antiquary, who was Norroy King at Arms in the reign of George II.--the Duke of Norfolk having appointed him from the pleasure he felt at the perusal of his "Life of Sir Walter Raleigh"--Grose gives an amusing account:--

"William Oldys, Norroy King at Arms," says Grose, "author of the 'Life of Sir Walter Raleigh,' and several others in the 'Biographia Britannica,' was natural son of a Dr. Oldys, in the Commons, who kept his mother very privately, and probably very meanly, as when he dined at a tavern he used to beg leave to send home part of the remains of any fish or fowl for his cat, which cat was afterwards found out to be Mr. Oldys' mother. His parents dying when he was very young, he soon squandered away his small patrimony, when he became first an attendant in Lord Oxford's library and afterwards librarian. He was a little mean-looking man, of a vulgar address, and, when I knew him, rarely sober in the afternoon, never after supper. His favourite liquor was porter, with a glass of gin between each pot. Dr. Ducarrel told me he used to stint Oldys to three pots of beer whenever he visited him. Oldys seemed to have little classical learning, and knew nothing of the sciences; but for index-reading, title-pages, and the knowledge of scarce English books and editions, he had no equal. This he had probably picked up in Lord Oxford's service, after whose death he was obliged to write for the booksellers for a subsistence. Amongst many other publications, chiefly in the biographical line, he wrote the 'Life of Sir Walter Raleigh,' which got him much reputation. The Duke of Norfolk, in particular, was so pleased with it that he resolved to provide for him, and accordingly gave him the patent of Norroy King at Arms, then vacant. The patronage of that duke occasioned a suspicion of his being a Papist, though I really think without reason; this for a while retarded his appointment. It was underhand propagated by the heralds, who were vexed at having a stranger put in upon them. He was a man of great good-nature, honour, and integrity, particularly in his character as an historian. Nothing, I firmly believe, would ever have biassed him to insert any fact in his writings he did not believe, or to suppress any he did. Of this delicacy he gave an instance at a time when he was in great distress. After the publication of his 'Life of Sir Walter Raleigh,' some booksellers, thinking his name would sell a piece they were publishing, offered him a considerable sum to father it, which he refused with the greatest indignation. He was much addicted to low company; most of his evenings he spent at the 'Bell' in the Old Bailey, a house within the liberties of the Fleet, frequented by persons whom he jocularly called rulers, from their being confined to the rules or limits of that prison. From this house a watchman, whom he kept regularly in pay, used to lead him home before twelve o'clock, in order to save sixpence paid to the porter of the Heralds' office, by all those who came home after that time; sometimes, and not unfrequently, two were necessary. He could not resist the temptation of liquor, even when he was to officiate on solemn occasions; for at the burial of the Princess Caroline he was so intoxicated that he could scarcely walk, but reeled about with a crown 'coronet' on a cushion, to the great scandal of his brethren. His method of composing was somewhat singular. He had a number of small parchment bags inscribed with the names of the persons whose lives he intended to write; into these bags he put every circumstance and anecdote he could collect, and from thence drew up his history. By his excesses he was kept poor, so that he was frequently in distress; and at his death, which happened about five on Wednesday morning, April 15th, 1761, he left little more than was sufficient to bury him. Dr. Taylor, the oculist, son of the famous doctor of that name and profession, claimed administration at the Commons, on account of his being nullius filius--Anglicè, a bastard. He was buried the 19th following, in the north aisle of the Church of St. Benet, Paul's Wharf, towards the upper end of the aisle. He was about seventy-two years old. Amongst his works is a preface to Izaak Walton's 'Angler.'"

The following pretty anacreontic, on a fly drinking out of his cup of ale, which is doubtless well known, is from the pen of Oldys:--

"Busy, curious, thirsty fly, Drink with me, and drink as I; Freely welcome to my cup, Couldst thou sip and sip it up. Make the most of life you may; Life is short, and wears away.

"Both alike are mine and thine, Hastening quick to their decline; Thine's a summer, mine no more, Though repeated to threescore; Threescore summers, when they're gone, Will appear as short as one."

The Rev. Mark Noble comments upon Grose's text by saying that this story of the crown must be incorrect, as the coronet at the funeral of a princess is always carried by Clarencieux, and not by Norroy.

In 1794, two eminent heralds, Benjamin Pingo, York Herald, and John Charles Brooke, Somerset Herald, were crushed to death in a crowd at the side door of the Haymarket Theatre. Mr. Brooke had died standing, and was found as if asleep, and with colour still in his cheeks.

Edmund Lodge, Lancaster Herald, who died in 1839, is chiefly known for his interesting series of "Portraits of Illustrious British Personages," accompanied by excellent genealogical and biographical memoirs.

During the Middle Ages heralds were employed to bear letters, defiances, and treaties to foreign princes and persons in authority; to proclaim war, and bear offers of marriage, &c.; and after battles to catalogue the dead, and note their rank by the heraldic bearings on their banners, shields, and tabards. In later times they were allowed to correct false crests, arms, and cognizances, and register noble descents in their archives. They conferred arms on those who proved themselves able to maintain the state of a gentleman, they marshalled great or rich men's funerals, arranged armorial bearings for tombs and stained-glass windows, and laid down the laws of precedence at state ceremonials. Arms, it appears from Mr. Planché, were sold to the "new rich" as early as the reign of King Henry VIII., who wished to make a new race of gentry, in order to lessen the power of the old nobles. The fees varied then from £6 13s. 6d. to £5.

In the old times the heralds' messengers were called knights caligate. After seven years they became knight-riders (our modern Queen's messengers); after seven years more they became pursuivants, and then heralds. In later times, says Mr. Planché, the herald's honourable office was transferred to nominees of the Tory nobility, discarded valets, butlers, or sons of upper servants. Mr. Canning, when Premier, very properly put a stop to this system, and appointed to this post none but young and intelligent men of manners and education.

Among the many curious volumes of genealogy in the library of the College of Arms--volumes which have been the result of centuries of exploring and patient study--the following are chiefly noticeable:--A book of emblazonment executed for Prince Arthur, the brother of Henry VIII., who died young, and whose widow Henry married; the Warwick Roll, a series of figures of all the Earls of Warwick from the Conquest to the reign of Richard III., executed by Rouse, a celebrated antiquary of Warwick, at the close of the fifteenth century; and a tournament roll of Henry VIII., in which that stalwart monarch is depicted in regal state, with all the "pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious (mimic) war." In the gallery over the library are to be seen the sword and dagger which belonged to the unfortunate James of Scotland, that chivalrous king who died fighting to the last on the hill at Flodden. The sword-hilt has been enamelled, and still shows traces of gilding which has once been red-wet with the Southron's blood; and the dagger is a strong and serviceable weapon, as no doubt many an English archer and billman that day felt. The heralds also show the plain turquoise ring which tradition says the French queen sent James, begging him to ride a foray in England. Copies of it have been made by the London jewellers. These trophies are heirlooms of the house of Howard, whose bend argent, to use the words of Mr. Planché, received the honourable augmentation of the Scottish lion, in testimony of the prowess displayed by the gallant soldier who commanded the English forces on that memorable occasion. Here is also to be seen a portrait of Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury (the great warrior), from his tomb in Old St. Paul's; a curious pedigree of the Saxon kings from Adam, illustrated with many beautiful drawings in pen and ink, about the period of Henry VIII., representing the Creation, Adam and Eve in Paradise, the building of Babel, the rebuilding of the Temple, &c. &c.; MSS., consisting chiefly of heralds' visitations, records of grants of arms and royal licences; records of modern pedigrees (i.e., since the discontinuance of the visitations in 1687); a most valuable collection of official funeral certificates; a portion of the Arundel MSS.; the Shrewsbury or Cecil papers, from which Lodge derived his well-known "Illustrations of British History;" notes, &c., made by Glover, Vincent, Philpot, and Dugdale; a volume in the handwriting of the venerable Camden ("Clarencieux"); the collections of Sir Edward Walker, Secretary at War (temp. Charles I.).

The Wardrobe, a house long belonging to the Government, in the Blackfriars, was built by Sir John Beauchamp (died 1359), whose tomb in Old St. Paul's was usually taken for the tomb of the good Duke Humphrey. Beauchamp's executors sold it to Edward III., and it was subsequently converted into the office of the Master of the Wardrobe, and the repository for the royal clothes. When Stow drew up his "Survey," Sir John Fortescue was lodged in the house as Master of the Wardrobe. What a royal ragfair this place must have been for rummaging antiquaries, equal to twenty Madame Tussaud's and all the ragged regiments of Westminster Abbey put together!

"There were also kept," says Fuller, "in this place the ancient clothes of our English kings, which they wore on great festivals; so that this Wardrobe was in effect a library for antiquaries, therein to read the mode and fashion of garments in all ages. These King James in the beginning of his reign gave to the Earl of Dunbar, by whom they were sold, re-sold, and re-re-re-sold at as many hands almost as Briareus had, some gaining vast estates thereby." (Fuller's "Worthies.")

We mentioned before that Shakespeare in his will left to his favourite daughter, Susannah, the Warwickshire doctor's wife, a house near the Wardrobe; but the exact words of the document may be worth quoting:--

"I gyve, will, bequeath," says the poet, "and devise unto my daughter, Susannah Hall, all that messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, situat, lying, and being in the Blackfriars in London, nere the Wardrobe."

After the Great Fire the Wardrobe was removed, first to the Savoy, and afterwards to Buckingham Street, in the Strand. The last master was Ralph, Duke of Montague, on whose death, in 1709, the office, says Cunningham, was, "I believe, abolished."

Swan Alley, near the Wardrobe, reminds us of the Beauchamps, for the swan was the cognizance of the Beauchamp family, long distinguished residents in this part of London.

In the Council Register of the 18th of August, 1618, there may be seen "A List of Buildings and Foundations since 1615." It is therein said that "Edward Alleyn, Esq., dwelling at Dulwich (the well-known player and founder of Dulwich College), had built six tenements of timber upon new foundations, within two years past, in Swan Alley, near the Wardrobe."

In Great Carter Lane stood the old Bell Inn, whence, in 1598, Richard Quyney directs a letter "To my loving good friend and countryman, Mr. Wm. Shackespeare, deliver thees"--the only letter addressed to Shakespeare known to exist. The original was in the possession of Mr. R.B. Wheeler, of Stratford-upon-Avon.

Stow mixes up the old houses near Doctors' Commons with Rosamond's Bower at Woodstock.

"Upon Paul's Wharf Hill," he says, "within a great gate, next to the Doctors' Commons, were many fair tenements, which, in their leases made from the Dean and Chapter, went by the name of Camera Dianæ--i.e., Diana's Chamber, so denominated from a spacious building that in the time of Henry II. stood where they were. In this Camera, an arched and vaulted structure, full of intricate ways and windings, this Henry II. (as some time he did at Woodstock) kept, or was supposed to have kept, that jewel of his heart, Fair Rosamond, she whom there he called Rosamundi, and here by the name of Diana; and from hence had this house that title.

"For a long time there remained some evident testifications of tedious turnings and windings, as also of a passage underground from this house to Castle Baynard; which was, no doubt, the king's way from thence to his Camera Dianæ, or the chamber of his brightest Diana."

St. Anne's, within the precinct of the Blackfriars, was pulled down with the Friars Church by Sir Thomas Cawarden, Master of the Revels; but in the reign of Queen Mary, he being forced to find a church to the inhabitants, allowed them a lodging chamber above a stair, which since that time, to wit in the year 1597, fell down, and was again, by collection therefore made, new built and enlarged in the same year.

The parish register records the burials of Isaac Oliver, the miniature painter (1617), Dick Robinson, the player (1647), Nat. Field, the poet and player (1632-3), William Faithorn, the engraver (1691); and there are the following interesting entries relating to Vandyck, who lived and died in this parish, leaving a sum of money in his will to its poor:--

"Jasper Lanfranch, a Dutchman, from Sir Anthony Vandikes, buried 14th February, 1638."

"Martin Ashent, Sir Anthony Vandike's man, buried 12th March, 1638."

"Justinia, daughter to Sir Anthony Vandyke and his lady, baptised 9th December, 1641."

The child was baptised on the very day her illustrious father died.

A portion of the old burying-ground is still to be seen in Church-entry, Ireland Yard.

"In this parish of St. Benet's, in Thames Street," says Stow, "stood Le Neve Inn, belonging formerly to John de Mountague, Earl of Salisbury, and after to Sir John Beauchamp, Kt., granted to Sir Thomas Erpingham, Kt., of Erpingham in Norfolk, and Warden of the Cinque Ports, Knight of the Garter. By the south end of Adle Street, almost against Puddle Wharf, there is one antient building of stone and timber, builded by the Lords of Berkeley, and therefore called Berkeley's Inn. This house is now all in ruin, and letten out in several tenements; yet the arms of the Lord Berkeley remain in the stone-work of an arched gate; and is between a chevron, crosses ten, three, three, and four."

Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, was lodged in this house, then called Berkeley's Inn, in the parish of St. Andrew, in the reign of Henry VI.

St. Andrew's Wardrobe Church is situated upon rising ground, on the east side of Puddle-Dock Hill, in the ward of Castle Baynard. The advowson of this church was anciently in the noble family of Fitzwalter, to which it probably came by virtue of the office of Constable of the Castle of London (that is, Baynard's Castle). That it is not of a modern foundation is evident by its having had Robert Marsh for its rector, before the year 1322. This church was anciently denominated "St. Andrew juxta Baynard's Castle," from its vicinity to that palace.

"Knightrider Street was so called," says Stow, "(as is supposed), of knights riding from thence through the street west to Creed Lane, and so out at Ludgate towards Smithfield, when they were there to tourney, joust, or otherwise to show activities before the king and states of the realm."

Linacre's house in Knightrider Street was given by him to the College of Physicians, and used as their place of meeting till the early part of the seventeenth century.

In his student days Linacre had been patronised by Lorenzo de Medicis, and at Florence, under Demetrius Chalcondylas, who had fled from Constantinople when it was taken by the Turks, he acquired a perfect knowledge of the Greek language. He studied eloquence at Bologna, under Politian, one of the most eloquent Latinists in Europe, and while he was at Rome devoted himself to medicine and the study of natural philosophy, under Hermolaus Barbarus. Linacre was the first Englishman who read Aristotle and Galen in the original Greek. On his return to England, having taken the degree of M.D. at Oxford, he gave lectures in physic, and taught the Greek language in that university. His reputation soon became so high that King Henry VII. called him to court, and entrusted him with the care of the health and education of his son, Prince Arthur. To show the extent of his acquirements, we may mention that he instructed Princess Katharine in the Italian language, and that he published a work on mathematics, which he dedicated to his pupil, Prince Arthur.

His treatise on grammar was warmly praised by Melancthon. This great doctor was successively physician to Henry VII., Henry VIII., Edward VI., and the Princess Mary. He established lectures on physic (says Dr. Macmichael, in his amusing book, "The Gold-headed Cane"), and towards the close of his life he founded the Royal College of Physicians, holding the office of President for seven years. Linacre was a friend of Lily, the grammarian, and was consulted by Erasmus. The College of Physicians first met in 1518 at Linacre's house (now called the Stone House), Knightrider Street, and which still belongs to the society. Between the two centre windows of the first floor are the arms of the college, granted 1546--a hand proper, vested argent, issuing out of clouds, and feeling a pulse; in base, a pomegranate between five demi fleurs-de-lis bordering the edge of the escutcheon. In front of the building was a library, and there were early donations of books, globes, mathematical instruments, minerals, &c. Dissections were first permitted by Queen Elizabeth, in 1564. As soon as the first lectures were founded, in 1583, a spacious anatomical theatre was built adjoining Linacre's house, and here the great Dr. Harvey gave his first course of lectures; but about the time of the accession of Charles I. the College removed to a house of the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul's, at the bottom of Amen Corner, where they planted a botanical garden and built an anatomical theatre. During the civil wars the Parliament levied £5 a week on the College. Eventually sold by the Puritans, the house and gardens were purchased by Dr. Harvey and given to the society. The great Harvey built a museum and library at his own expense, which were opened in 1653, and Harvey, then nearly eighty, relinquished his office of Professor of Anatomy and Surgery. The garden at this time extended as far west as the Old Bailey, and as far south as St. Martin's Church. Harvey's gift consisted of a convocation room and a library, to which Selden contributed some Oriental MS., Elias Ashmole many valuable volumes, the Marquis of Dorchester £100; and Sir Theodore Mayerne, physician to four kings--viz., Henry IV. of France, James I., Charles I., and Charles II.--left his library. The old library was turned into a lecture and reception room, for such visitors as Charles II. who in 1665 attended here the anatomical prælections of Dr. Ent, whom he knighted on the occasion. This building was destroyed by the Great Fire, from which only 112 folio books were saved. The College never rebuilt its premises, and on the site were erected the houses of three residentiaries of St. Paul's. Shortly after a piece of ground was purchased in Warwick Lane, and the new building opened in 1674. A similar grant to that of Linacre's was that of Dr. Lettsom, who in the year 1773 gave the house and library in Bolt Court, which is at the present moment occupied by the Medical Society of London.

The view of Linacre's House, in Knightrider Street, which we give on page 301, is taken from a print in the "Gold-headed Cane," an amusing work to which we have already referred.

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