CROSBY HALL

By the Editor

Few old mansions in the city of London could rival the ancient dwelling-place of the brave old knight, Sir John Crosby. Its architectural beauties and historical associations endeared it to all lovers of old London, and many a groan was heard when its fate was doomed, and the decree went forth that it was to be numbered among the departed glories of the city. Unhappily, the hand of the destroyer could not be stayed, and the earnest hope had to be abandoned that many a generation of Londoners might be permitted to see this relic of ancient civic life, and to realise from this example the kind of dwelling-place wherein the city merchants of olden days made their homes, and the salient features of mediæval domestic architecture. Shorn of its former magnificence, reduced to a fraction of its original size, it retained evidences of its ancient state and grandeur, and every stone and timber told of its departed glories, and of the great events of which Crosby Hall had been the scene. It has been associated with many a name that shines forth in the annals of English history, and imagination could again people the desolate hall with a gay company of courtiers and conspirators, of knights and dames, of city merchants gorgeous in their liveries of "scarlet and green," or "murrey and plunket," when pomp and pageantry, tragedy and death, dark councils and mirth, and gaiety and revellings followed each other through the portals of the mansion in one long and varied procession. It will be our pleasure to recall some of these scenes which were enacted long ago, and to tell of the royal, noble, and important personages who made this house their home.

Many people who live in our great overgrown modern London—who dwell in the West End, and never wander further east than Drury Lane Theatre or St. Pancras Station—have never seen Crosby Hall, and know not where it stood. If you go along Cheapside and to the end of Cornhill, and then turn to the left, up Bishopsgate, the old house stood on the right hand side; or you may approach along Holborn and London Wall. Alas! the pilgrimage is no longer possible. Bishopsgate is historic ground. The name is derived from the ancient gate of the city that was built, according to Stow, by some Bishop of London, "though now unknown when or by whom, for ease of passengers toward the east, and by north, as into Norfolk, Suffolk, Cambridgeshire, &c." Some authorities name Bishop Erkenwald, son of King Offa, as the first builder of Bishopsgate, and state that Bishop William, the Norman, repaired the gate in the time of his namesake, the Conqueror. Henry III. confirmed to the German merchants of the Hanse certain liberties and privileges, which were also confirmed by Edward I. in the tenth year of his reign, when it was discovered that the merchants were bound to repair the gate. Thereupon Gerald Marbod, alderman of the Hanse, and other Hanse merchants, granted 210 marks sterling to the Mayor and citizens, and covenanted that they and their successors should from time to time repair the gate. In 1479, in the reign of Edward IV., it was entirely rebuilt by these merchants, and was a fine structure adorned with the effigies of two bishops, probably those named above, and with two other figures supposed to represent King Alfred and Alred, Earl of Mercia, to whom Alfred entrusted the care of the gate. This repair was probably necessary on account of the assault of the bastard Falconbridge on this and other gates of the city, who shot arrows and guns into London, fired the suburbs, and burnt more than three-score houses. The gate has been frequently repaired and rebuilt, its last appearance being very modern, with a bishop's mitre on the key-stone of the arch, and surmounted by the city arms with guarding griffins. London "improvements" have banished the gate, as they have so many other interesting features of the city.

The neighbourhood is interesting. Foremost among the attractions of Bishopsgate Street is the beautiful church of St. Helen, formerly the church of the Nunnery of St. Helen, the Westminster of the city, where lie so many illustrious merchants and knights and dames, and amongst them the founder of Crosby Hall and other owners of the mansion. The church is closely associated with the hall. There in that fine house they lived. There in the church hard by their bodies sleep, and their gorgeous tombs and inscriptions tell the story of their deeds. St. Helen's Church was one of the few which escaped destruction at the Great Fire of London. There was an early Saxon church here, but the earliest parts of the existing building date back to the thirteenth century. There are some blocked-up lancet windows of the transept, a staircase doorway in the south-east corner, another doorway which led from the nun's choir into the convent, and a lancet window. There is a Renaissance porch, the work of Inigo Jones, erected in 1663. The main part of the structure is Decorated and Perpendicular, the fifteenth century work being due to the builder of Crosby Hall, who left 500 marks for its restoration and improvement. The whole church possesses many interesting features, of which want of space prevents a full description.

Sir John Crosby determined to seek a site for his house close to this church and the Nunnery of St. Helen, and in 1466 obtained a lease from Alice Ashford, prioress of the Nunnery, of some lands and tenements for a period of ninety-nine years for the yearly rent of £11 6s. 8d. Doubtless many good citizens of London in the present day would like to make so good a bargain.

Sir John Crosby, whose honoured name is preserved to this day by the noble house which he built, was a worthy and eminent citizen of London—one of the men who laid the foundations of English trade and commercial pre-eminence. He attained to great wealth, and his actions and his bequests prove that he was a very worthy man. Some idle story stated that, like the famous Dick Whittington, he was of humble origin and unknown parentage. Stow says: "I hold it a fable said of him, to be named Crosby, from his being found by a cross." A very pretty conceit! He was discovered, when an infant, or having attained the age of boyhood, sleeping on the steps of the market cross at Cheapside or Charing; and the sympathetic folk who found him there named him Cross-by! Our ancestors, like ourselves, loved a romance, a nice cheerful story of a poor boy attaining to rank and opulence, marrying his master's daughter and doing brave deeds for his King and country. The notable career of Sir Richard Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London, was so embellished with romantic incident. He was no poor man's son who begged his way to London, accompanied by his favourite cat. Was he not the youngest son of Sir William Whittington, the owner of Pauntley Manor in Gloucestershire, and of Solers Hope, Hereford? and was not his famous cat the name of his ship which brought him wealth and affluence? Or shall we accept the story of the sale of the cat to the King of Barbary? So the legend of the foundling Crosby is equally a fable, woven by the skilful imaginations of our Elizabethan forefathers. Sir John came of goodly parentage. There was a Johan de Crosbie, King's Clerk in Chancery, in the time of Edward II.; a Sir John Crosbie, Knight, and Alderman of London, in the reign of Edward III.; and a John Crosby, Esquire, and servant of King Henry IV., who gave to him the wardship of Joan, daughter and sole heir of John Jordaine, Fishmonger—i.e., a member of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers of the City of London. This John Crosby was, according to Stow, either the father or grandfather of the builder of Crosby Hall.

The family held the manor and advowson of the church of Hanworth-on-the-Thames, not far from Hampton Court. This manor was owned by the Sir John Crosbie who lived in the time of King Edward III., and after his death it was placed in the hands of a certain Thomas Rigby for safe custody until John Crosbie, the son and heir of the knight, should have grown up to man's estate and attained his majority. This estate seems afterwards to have passed into the hands of King Henry VIII., who, on account of its pleasant situation, delighted in it above any other of his houses.

The father of the founder of the Hall was a friend of Henry Lord Scrope, of Masham, the unfortunate nobleman who was beheaded at Southampton for complicity in a plot against the life of Henry V. He bequeathed to his friend, John Crosbie, "a woollen gown without furs and one hundred shillings."

Bene natus, bene vestitus, and doubtless modice doctus, the qualifications of an All Souls' Fellow, John Crosby began his career, embarking in trade and commerce, and undertaking the duties of a worthy citizen of London. The palmy days of commercial enterprise inaugurated by King Henry VII. had not yet set in. Before his time the trade between England and the Continent was much more in the hands of foreigners than of English merchants. English trading ships going abroad to sell English goods and bring back cargoes of foreign commodities were few in number. The English merchant usually stayed at home, and sold his wares to the strangers who came each year to London and the other trading ports, or bartered them for the produce of other lands, with which their ships were freighted. The German Hanse merchants, the Flemish traders, the Lombards, and many others, enjoyed great privileges in their commerce with England. But, in spite of this, men like Crosby were able to amass wealth and make large profits. Sir John's dealings extended far into other countries, and he had important connections with the Friscobaldi of Florence, who with the Medici were the great bankers and engrossers of the commerce of Europe.

Of the great merchants who laid the foundations of our English commerce we often know little more than their names, the offices they held, with a meagre catalogue of their most philanthropic labours and their wills. It is possible, however, to gather a little more information concerning the owner of Crosby Place. The records at Guildhall tell us that in 1466, the seventh year of Edward IV., John Crosby, Grocer, was elected with three others a Member of Parliament. He was also elected in the same year one of the auditors of the City and Bridge House. In 1468 we find him elected Alderman of Broad Street Ward, and two years later Sheriff of London. He took a prominent part in the old city life of London, and was a prominent member of two of the old City Companies, the Grocers and the Woolmen. Of the former he twice served the office of warden, and preserved a strong affection for his company, bequeathing to it by his will considerable gifts. The honourable and important post of Mayor of the Staple at Calais was also conferred upon him.

He seems to have been a brave and valiant man, as well as a successful trader and good citizen. During his time the safety of the City of London was endangered owing to the attack of Thomas Nevil, the bastard Lord Falconbridge, to which reference has already been made. Stow tells the story graphically. This filibusterer came with his rebel company and a great navy of ships near to the Tower—

In this determined defence of the city against a formidable attack, John Crosbie took a leading part, bravely contending against the forces of the foe and fighting fiercely. Twelve aldermen with the recorder were knighted in the field by King Edward IV., and amongst those so honoured were the Lord Mayor of London, William Taylor, and John Crosby. Our hero was no carpet knight, no poor-spirited tradesman and man of peace. Like many other famous citizens of his age, he could don his armour and fight for his King and country, and proved himself a gallant leader of a citizen army, the best sort of army in the world. He was a devoted adherent of the House of York, and a favourite of Edward IV., who sent him on an important embassage to the Duke of Burgundy, who had married Elizabeth of York, the King's sister. The secret object of the mission was an alliance against Francis I. of France. The embassy was also sent to the Duke of Brittany with the same object, and also to secure the persons of the Earls of Richmond and Pembroke, who had taken refuge in France, and there felt themselves secure. The future Richard III. was nearly persuaded to return to England; his foot was almost on the ship's deck, when, fortunately for him, his voyage was prevented. If he had continued his journey he would never have worn a crown, as he would have lacked a head whereon to place it.

Sir John Crosby not long before his death began to build the beautiful house in Bishopsgate "in the place of certain tenements, with their appurtenances let to him by Alice Ashfield, Prioress of St. Helen's.... This house he built of stone and timber, very large and beautiful, and the highest at that time in London," as Stow records. The whole structure was known as Crosby Place, and rivalled the dimensions of a palace. All that remained of this magnificent building was the Hall, together with the Council Room and an ante-room, forming two sides of a quadrangle. It was built of stone, and measured 54 feet by 27 feet, and was 40 feet in height. The Hall was lighted by a series of eight Perpendicular windows on one side and six on the other, and by a beautifully-constructed octagonal bay window. It had a fine roof of exquisite workmanship richly ornamented, and a wide chimney. Much of the original stone pavement had vanished. The Council Chamber was nearly as large as the hall, being only 14 feet less in length.

Crosby Hall has been the scene of many notable historic scenes. In the play of "Edward IV." by Heywood, Sir John Crosby figures as Lord Mayor of London, a position which he never occupied, and the King dines with him and the Alderman after the defeat of the rebel Falconbridge at Crosby Hall. He had just received the honour of knighthood, and thus muses:—

It is quite possible that the King thus dined with his favourite, but there is no historical account that confirms the poet's play. The builder did not long enjoy his beautiful house, and died in 1475, leaving a second wife and a daughter by his first wife, whom he seemed to have loved with a more ardent affection than his second spouse. Soon after his death the man whom he tried to trap in France, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, came to reside here, and made it the scene of endless plots and conspiracies against his luckless nephews and his many enemies. Crosby Place is frequently alluded to by Shakespeare in his play, "Richard the Third." Gloucester tells Catesby to report to him at Crosby Place the treacherous murder of the Princes in the Tower, and he bids the Lady Anne to "presently repair to Crosby Place."

The house in 1502 passed into the possession of Sir Bartholomew Reed, Lord Mayor, and then to John Best, Alderman, from whom it was purchased by Sir Thomas More, the famous Lord Chancellor. Doubtless it was in the chambers of Crosby Place that he wrote his Utopia. He sold the lease to his beloved friend, Antonio Bonvisi, an Italian gentleman, who had long lived in England; and when the Dissolution of Monasteries took place, and the possessions of the Priory of St. Helen's were seized by the Crown, the King allowed the Italian to retain possession of Crosby Place. We need not record all its worthy owners. It was frequently used as a fitting place for the lodging of foreign ambassadors, and here Sir John Spencer, having restored the house, kept his mayoralty in 1594. Enormously wealthy, he lived in great splendour and entertained lavishly. He was a great favourite of Queen Elizabeth. It was not from Crosby Hall, but from his house at Canonbury, that his only daughter effected her escape in a baker's basket in order to wed the handsome Lord Compton. Terrible was the father's wrath, and everyone knows the charming story of the Queen's tactful intervention, how she induced Sir John to stand as sponsor with her for an unknown boy, whom Sir John declared should be the heir of all his wealth, and how this boy was, of course, Lady Compton's child, and how a full reconciliation was effected. It is a very pretty story. It is not so pleasant to read of the disastrous effect of the possession of so much wealth had on the brain of Lord Compton, when he came into possession of his lady's riches. She was a little vixenish, spoilt and exacting, if she really intended seriously the literal meaning of that well-known letter which she wrote setting forth her needs and requirements. It is too long to quote. Lord Compton was created Earl of Northampton, and that precious child of his when he grew to man's estate was killed fighting for the Royalist cause in the Civil War.

During that disastrous time Crosby became a prison for Royalists, and later on a great part of the house was destroyed by fire, and its ancient glories departed. For a hundred years the Hall was used as a Nonconformist chapel. In 1778 part of the premises was converted into a place of business by Messrs. Holmes and Hall, the rest being used as private dwellings. It provided a model for the banqueting-hall of Arundel Castle, and some of the carved stones of the Council Chamber were removed to Henley-upon-Thames to adorn a dairy. Alien buildings soon covered the site of the destroyed portion of the old house. In 1831 it was left forlorn and untenanted, and in a state of considerable decay. Then arose a considerable excitement, of which the struggle of the present year reminds us. Crosby Hall was doomed. But zealous lovers of the antiquities of the city determined to try to save it. An appeal was made, and a restoration fund started, though, like many other restoration funds, it proved itself inadequate. A benevolent lady, Miss Hackett, gallantly came to the rescue, and practically saved Crosby Hall. Her idea was to convert it into a lecture hall for the Gresham Professors; but this plan came to nothing, though the building was repaired, the south wall of the Throne and Council Chambers being rebuilt. Then a company was formed to take over Miss Hackett's interest, and the Crosby Hall Literary and Scientific Institution was formed, but that scheme came to nothing. Then it was bought by Messrs. F. Gordon & Co., who restored the building, attached to it an annex of half-timbered construction, and converted the premises into a restaurant. Thus it remained for several years. Recently the site was acquired by a banking company, and its demolition was threatened. Immediate action was taken by Sir Vesey Strong, the Lord Mayor, and others, to save the building. The fight was fought strenuously and bravely. Apathy was found in some quarters where it would least have been expected, and all efforts were fruitless. It is deplorable to have to record that the last of the mansions of the old city magnates has been allowed to disappear, and that Crosby Hall is now only a memory.

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THE PAGEANT OF LONDON

By the Editor

We have stated in the Preface that London needs no pageant or special spectacular display in order to set forth its wonderful attractions. London is in itself a pageant, far more interesting than any theatrical representation; and in this final chapter we will enumerate some of those other features of Old London life which have not found description in the preceding pictures. We will "stand by and let the pageant pass," or, rather, pass along the streets and make our own pageant.

The great city is always changing its appearance, and travellers who have not seen it for several years scarcely know where they are when visiting some of the transformed localities. But however great the change, the city still exercises its powerful fascination on all who have once felt its strangely magnetic force, its singular attractiveness. Though the London County Council have effected amazing "improvements," constructing a street which nobody wants and nobody uses, and spending millions in widening Piccadilly; though private enterprise pulls down ancient dwellings and rears huge hotels and business premises in their places—it is still possible to conjure up the memories of the past, and to picture to ourselves the multitudinous scenes of historic interest which Old London has witnessed. Learned writers have already in these volumes enabled us to transport ourselves at will to the London of bygone times—to the mediæval city, with its monasteries, its churches, its palaces, its tragedies; to Elizabethan London, bright and gay, with young life pulsing through its veins; to the London of Pepys, with its merry-makings, its coarseness, and its vice. In this concluding chapter we will recall some other memories, and try to fill the background to the picture.

Westminster, the rival city, the city of the court, with its abbey and its hall, we have not attempted to include in our survey. She must be left in solitary state until, perhaps, a new volume of this series may presume to describe her graces and perfections. The ever-growing suburbs of the great city, the West End, the fashionable quarter, Southern London across the river, with Lambeth and its memories of archbishops—all this, and much else that deserves an honoured place in the chronicles of the metropolis, we must perforce omit in our survey. Some of the stories are too modern to please the taste of those who revel in the past; and if the curious reader detects omissions, he may console himself by referring to some of the countless other books and guides which the attractions of London are ever forcing industrious scribes to produce.

Christ's Hospital

Many regrets were expressed when it was found necessary to remove this ancient school from London, and to destroy the old buildings. Of course, "everything is for the best in this best of possible worlds." Boys, like plants, thrive better in the open country, and London fogs are apt to becloud the brain as well as injure health. But the antiquary may be allowed to utter his plaint over the demolition of the old features of London life. The memorials of this ancient school cannot be omitted from our collection.

We are carried back in thought to the Friars, clad in grey habits, girt with cord, and sandal shod, who settled in the thirteenth century on the north side of what we now call Newgate Street, and, by the generosity of pious citizens, founded their monastery. Thus John Ewin gave them the land in the ward of Farringdon Without, and in the parish of St. Nicholas Shambles; William Joyner built the choir; William Wallis the nave; William Porter the chapter house; Gregory Bokesby the dormitories, furnishing it with beds; Bartholomew de Castello the refectory, where he feasted the friars on St. Bartholomew's Day. Queen Margaret, the second wife of Edward I., was a great benefactor of the order, and advanced two thousand marks towards the cost of a large church, which was completed in 1327, and was a noble structure, 300 feet in length, 89 feet in breadth, and 74 feet high. "Dick" Whittington built for the friars a splendid library, which was finished in 1424. The church was the favoured resting-place of the illustrious dead. Four queens, four duchesses, four countesses, one duke, two earls, eight barons, and some thirty-five knights reposed therein. In the choir there were nine tombs of alabaster and marble, surrounded by iron railings, and monuments of marble and brass abounded. The dissolution of monasteries came with greedy Henry, and the place was rifled. The crown seized the goodly store of treasure; the church became a receptacle for the prizes taken from the French; and Sir Martin Bowes, Mayor of London, for the sum of £50, obtained all the beautiful tombs and brasses, marble and alabaster, which were carted away from the desecrated shrine.

But Henry's conscience smote him. The death of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, the King's boon companion, moved him "to bethink himself of his end, and to do some good work thereunto," as Fuller states. The church was reopened for worship, and Bishop Ridley, preaching at Paul's Cross, announced the King's gift of the conventual grounds and buildings, with the hospital of St. Bartholomew, for the relief of the poor. Letters patent were issued in 1545, making over to the Mayor and Commonalty of London for ever "the Grey Friars' Church, with all the edifices and ground, the fratry, library, dortor, chapter-house, great cloister, and the lesser tenements and vacant grounds, lead, stone, iron, etc.; the hospital of St. Bartholomew, West Smithfield, the church of the same, the lead, bells, and ornaments of the same hospital, with all messuages, tenements, and appurtenances."

It was a poor return to the Church for all of that the King had robbed her. Moreover, he did not altogether abandon a little profit. He made the monastic church, now called the Christ Church, do duty for the parishes of St. Nicholas in the Shambles, St. Ewins, and part of St. Sepulchre, uniting these into one parish, and pulling down the churches of the first two parishes. It would be curious to discover what became of the endowments of these parishes, and of the fabrics.

For some years nothing was done to further the cause of this charity, but in 1552, when Bishop Ridley, who was a mightily convincing preacher, was discoursing upon charity before Edward VI., the boy-King was so moved that he conversed with the bishop, and, together with the Lord Mayor and aldermen of the city, determined to found three hospitals—Christ's Hospital for the education of poor children, St. Thomas's for the relief of the sick and diseased, and Bridewell for the correction and amendment of the idle and the vagabond. Before his last illness, Edward had just strength enough to sign the charter for the founding of these institutions, ejaculating: "Lord, I yield Thee most hearty thanks that Thou hast given me life thus long to finish this work to the glory of Thy name." The good citizens of London, with their accustomed charity, immediately set to work, before the granting of the charter, to subscribe money for the repair of the old monastic buildings, and in 1552 three hundred and forty children were admitted, not so much for educational purposes as for their rescue from the streets, and the provision of shelter, food, and clothing. It must have been a welcome sight to the citizens to see them clothed in livery of russet cotton, the boys with red caps, the girls with kerchiefs on their heads, lining the procession when the Lord Mayor and aldermen rode to St. Paul's on Christmas Day. On the following Easter the boys and "mayden children" were in "plonket," or blue—hence the hospital derived the name of the Blue Coat School. The dress of the boys, concerning the origin of which many fanciful interpretations have been made, is the costume of the period generally worn by apprentices and serving men, consisting of a long blue coat, with leathern girdle, a sleeveless yellow waistcoat and yellow stockings, clerical bands and a small black cap completing the dress. "Four thousand marks by the year" from the royal exchequer were granted by the King for the maintenance of the school, which sum was largely supplemented by the citizens and other pious benefactors, such as Lady Ramsay, who founded "a free writing schoole for poor men's children" at the hospital. Camden says that at the beginning of the seventeenth century six hundred children were maintained and educated, and one thousand two hundred and forty pensioners relieved by the hospital in alms, and, later on, as many as one thousand one hundred and twenty children were cared for by this institution. The governors, moreover, started "place houses" in other districts—at Hertford, Ware, Reading, and Bloxburn—where boys were educated.

The buildings were greatly injured by the fire of 1666, when the old monastic church was entirely destroyed. The great hall was soon rebuilt by Sir John Frederick, and then the famous Royal Mathematical School was founded through the exertions of Sir Robert Clayton, Sir Jonas Moore, Sir Christopher Wren, Sir Charles Scarbrough, and Samuel Pepys. King Charles II. granted a charter and £1,000 a year for seven years, and the forty boys who composed the school were called "King's boys." They were instructed in navigation, and wore a badge on the left shoulder. A subordinate mathematical school, consisting of twelve scholars, denoted "the Twelves," who wore a badge on the right shoulder, was subsequently formed. Pepys took a keen interest in the school, and a series of a large number of his letters is in existence which show the efforts he made to maintain the mathematical school. He tells also of a little romance connected with the hospital, which is worth recording. There was at that time a grammar school for boys and a separate school for girls. Two wealthy citizens left their estates, one to a bluecoat boy, and the other to a bluecoat girl. Some of the governors thought that it would be well if these two fortunate recipients were married. So a public wedding was arranged at the Guildhall chapel, where the ceremony was performed by the Dean of St. Paul's, the bride, supported by two bluecoat boys, being given away by the Lord Mayor, and the bridegroom, attired in blue satin, being led to the altar by two bluecoat girls.

A noble gift of Sir Robert Clayton enabled the governors to rebuild the east cloister and south front. The writing school was erected by Sir Christopher Wren in 1694, at the expense of Sir John Moore. The ward over the east side cloister was rebuilt in 1705 by Sir Francis Child, the banker, and in 1795 the grammar school was erected. Some of the buildings of the old monastery survived until the beginning of the last century, but they were somewhat ruinous and unsafe, hence, in 1803, a great building fund was formed. The hall erected after the great fire was pulled down, and a vast building in the Tudor style begun in 1825, which was so familiar to all who passed along the eastern end of Holborn. John Shaw was the architect. You will remember the open arcade, the buttresses and octagonal towers, and the embattled and pinnacled walls, and, above all, you will remember the crowd of happy boys, clad in their picturesque garb, kicking about the merry football. The dining hall was one of the finest rooms in London, being 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high; lighted by nine large windows, those on the south side being filled with stained glass. There hung the huge charter picture, representing Edward VI. presenting the charter to the Lord Mayor, the Chancellor, officers of State, and children of the school being in attendance. This picture has been attributed to Holbein, but since the event occurred in 1553, and that artist could have produced no work later than 1534, the tradition is erroneous. Two portraits of Edward VI. are also in the possession of the hospital attributed to Holbein, but they have been proved to be the work of a later artist. Verrio's portrait of Charles II., and his picture of James II. receiving the mathematical boys, are very large canvases.

It is unnecessary to describe all the buildings which so recently existed, but have now been swept away. It is more interesting to note some of the curious customs which exist or formerly existed in the school, and some of the noted of the old "Blues." Christ's Hospital was a home of old customs, some of them, perhaps, little relished by the scholars. Each boy had a wooden "piggin" for drinking small beer served out of a leathern or wooden jack; a platter, spoon, and soup-ladle of the same material. There was a quaint custom of supping in public on Sundays during Lent, when visitors were admitted, and the Lord Mayor or president of the governors sat in state. Quaint wooden candlesticks adorned the tables, and, after the supper, were carried away in procession, together with the tablecloths, crug-baskets, or baskets used for carrying bread, bowls, jacks, and piggins. Before the supper a hymn was sung, and a "Grecian," or head boy, read the prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three blows of a wooden hammer. The supper then began, consisting of bread and cheese, and the visitors used to walk about between the tables. Then followed the solemn procession of the boys carrying their goods, and bowing repeatedly to the governors and their guests. It was a pleasing custom, honoured by the presence of many distinguished guests, and Queen Victoria and Prince Albert on one occasion witnessed the spectacle.

Then there were the annual orations on St. Matthew's Day, commemorating the foundation of the school, and attended by the civic magnates. A state service was held in Christ Church, Newgate Street, and, afterwards, the Grecians delivered speeches, and a collection was made for the support of these headboys when they went to the University. The beadles delivered up their staves to the Court, and if no fault was found with these officers their badges were returned to them. The Company was regaled with "sweet cakes and burnt wine."

At Easter there were solemn processions—first, on Easter Monday, to the Mansion House, when the Lord Mayor was escorted by the boys to Christ Church to hear the Spital or hospital sermon. On Easter Tuesday again the scholars repaired to the Mansion House, and were regaled with a glass of wine, in lieu of which lemonade, in more recent times, could be obtained, two buns, and a shilling fresh from the Mint, the senior scholars receiving an additional sum, and the Grecians obtained a guinea. Again the Spital sermon was preached. The boys were entitled, by ancient custom, to sundry privileges—to address the sovereign on his visiting the city, and the "King's boys" were entitled to be presented at the first drawing-room of the season, to present their charts for inspection, and to receive sundry gifts. By ancient privilege they were entitled to inspect all the curiosities in the Tower of London free of any charge, and these at one time included a miniature zoological garden.

Many are the notable men renowned in literature and art who have sprung from this famous school. Charles Lamb, S. T. Coleridge, Leigh Hunt, and countless other men might be mentioned who have done honour to their school. Some of their recollections of old manners reveal some strange educational methods—the severe thrashings, the handcuffing of runaways, the confining in dungeons, wretched holes, where the boys could just find room to lie down on straw, and were kept in solitary confinement and fed worse than prisoners in modern gaols. Bread and beer breakfasts were hardly the best diet for boys, and the meat does not always appear to have been satisfactory. However, all these bygone abuses have long ago disappeared. For some years the future of the hospital was shrouded in uncertainty. At length it was resolved to quit London, and now the old buildings have been pulled down, and the school has taken a new lease of life and settled at Horsham, where all will wish that it may have a long and prosperous career. We may well conclude this brief notice of the old school in the words of the School Commissioners of 1867, who stated: "Christ's Hospital is a thing without parallel in the country and sui generis. It is a grand relic of the mediæval spirit—a monument of the profuse munificence of that spirit, and of that constant stream of individual beneficence, which is so often found to flow around institutions of that character. It has kept up its main features, its traditions, its antique ceremonies, almost unchanged, for a period of upwards of three centuries. It has a long and goodly list of worthies." We know not how many of these antique ceremonies have survived its removal, but we venture to hope that they may still exist, and that the authorities have not failed to maintain the traditions that Time has consecrated.

The City Churches

In the pageant of London no objects are more numerous and conspicuous than the churches which greet us at every step. In spite of the large number which have disappeared, there are very many left. There they stand in the centre of important thoroughfares, in obscure courts and alleys—here surrounded by high towering warehouses; there maintaining proud positions, defying the attacks of worldly business and affairs. A whole volume would be required to do justice to the city churches, and we can only glance at some of the most striking examples.

The Great Fire played havoc with the ancient structures, and involved in its relentless course many a beautiful and historic church. But some few of them are left to us. We have already seen St. Bartholomew's, Smithfield, and glanced at the church of St. Helen, Bishopsgate, and old St Paul's. Wren's St. Paul's Cathedral has so often been described that it is not necessary to tell again the story of its building.[11] "Destroyed by the Great Fire, rebuilt by Wren," is the story of most of the city churches; but there were some few which escaped. At the east end of Great Tower Street stands All Hallows Barking, so called from having belonged to the abbey of Barking, Essex. This narrowly escaped the fire, which burned the dial, and porch, and vicarage house. Its style is mainly Perpendicular, with a Decorated east window, and has some good brasses. St. Andrew's Undershaft, Leadenhall Street, opposite to which the May-pole was annually raised until "Evil May-day" put an end to the merry-makings, was rebuilt in 1520-32, and contains some mural paintings, much stained glass, and many brasses and monuments, including that of John Stow, the famous London antiquary. St. Catherine Cree, in the same street, was rebuilt in 1629, and consecrated by Laud. St. Dunstan's-in-the-East was nearly destroyed, and restored by Wren, the present nave being rebuilt in 1817. St. Dunstan's, Stepney, preserves its fifteenth century fabric, and St. Ethelburga's, Bishopsgate, retains some of its Early English masonry, and St. Ethelreda's, Ely Place, is the only surviving portion of the ancient palace of the Bishops of Ely. St. Giles', Cripplegate, stands near the site of a Saxon church built in 1090 by Alfun, the first hospitaller of the Priory of St. Bartholomew. Suffering from a grievous fire in 1545, it was partially rebuilt, and in 1682 the tower was raised fifteen feet. Many illustrious men were buried here, including John Fox, John Speed, the historian, John Milton and his father, several actors of the Fortune Theatre, and Sir Martin Frobisher. In 1861 the church was restored in memory of Milton, and a monument raised to him. This church saw the nuptials of Oliver Cromwell and Elizabeth Bowchier in 1620. All Hallows Staining, Mark Lane, escaped the fire, and its tower and west end are ancient. St. James', Aldgate, was built in 1622, and escaped the fire, which might have spared more important edifices; and St. Olave's, Hart Street, a building which shows Norman, Early English, Decorated, and Perpendicular work, was happily preserved. This is sometimes called Pepys's church, since he often mentions it in his diary, and lies buried here. There are other interesting monuments, and in the churchyard lie some of the victims of the Great Plague. St. Sepulchre's, near Newgate, was damaged by the fire, and refitted by Wren, but the main building is fifteenth century work. Several churches escaped the Great Fire, but were subsequently pulled down and rebuilt. Amongst these are St. Alphege, London Wall; St. Botolph-without, Aldersgate; St. Botolph's, St. Martin's Outwich. St. Mary Woolnoth was also damaged by the fire, and repaired by Wren. It stands on the site of an early church, which was rebuilt in the fifteenth century; but the greater part of the present church was built by Hawksmoor in 1716.

A strange, weird, desolate city met the eyes of the people of London when the Great Fire had died away. No words can describe that scene of appalling ruin and desolation. But, with the energy for which Englishmen are remarkable, they at once set to work to restore their loss, and a master-mind was discovered who could grapple with the difficulty and bring order out of chaos. This wonderful genius was Sir Christopher Wren. He devised a grand scheme for the rebuilding of the city. Evelyn planned another. But property owners were tenacious of their rights, and clung to their own parcels of ground; so these great schemes came to nothing. However, to Wren fell the task of rebuilding the fallen churches, and no less than fifty-two were entrusted to his care. He had no one to guide him; no school of artists or craftsmen to help him in the detail of his buildings; no great principles of architecture to direct him. Gothic architecture was dead, if we except the afterglow that shone in Oxford. He might have followed his great predecessor, Inigo Jones, and produced works after an Italian model. But he was no copyist. Taking the classic orders as his basis, he devised a style of his own, suitable for the requirements of the time and climate, and for the form of worship and religious usages of the Anglican Church. "It is enough for Romanists to hear the murmur of the mass, and see the elevation of the Host; but our churches are to be fitted for auditories," he once said.

Of the churches built by Wren, eighteen beautiful buildings have already been destroyed. St. Christopher-le-Stocks is swallowed up by the Bank of England; St. Michael, Crooked Lane, disappeared in 1841, when approaches were made to New London Bridge; St. Bartholomew-by-the-Exchange made way for the Sun Fire Office; and St. Benet Fink was pulled down because of its nearness to the Royal Exchange. Since the passing of the Union of City Benefices Act in 1860, fourteen churches designed by Wren have succumbed, and attacks on others have been with difficulty warded off.[12]

The characteristics of Wren's genius were his versatility, imagination, and originality. We will notice some of the results of these qualities of mind. The tower hardly ever enters into the architectural treatment of the interior. It is used as an entrance lobby or vestry. His simplest plan was a plain oblong, without columns or recesses, such as St. Mildred's, Bread Street, or St. Nicholas', Cole Abbey. St. Margaret, Lothbury, St. Vedast, St. Clement, Eastcheap, have this simple form, with the addition of an aisle or a recess. His next plan consists of the central nave and two aisles, with or without clerestory windows; of this St. Andrew Wardrobe and St. Magnus the Martyr furnish good examples. The third plan is the domed church, such as St. Swithun and St. Mary Abchurch. The merits and architectural beauties of Wren's churches have been recently described in an able lecture delivered by Mr. Arthur Keen before the Architectural Association, a lecture which we should like to see expanded to the size of a book, and enriched with copious drawings. It would be of immense service in directing the minds of the citizens of London to the architectural treasures of which they are the heirs.

The churches are remarkable for their beautifully carved woodwork, often executed or designed by Grinling Gibbons or his pupils. Pews, pulpits, with elaborate sounding boards, organ cases, altar pieces, were all elaborately carved, and a gallery usually was placed at the west end. Paintings by Sir James Thornhill and other artists adorn his churches, and the art of Strong the master mason, Jennings the carpenter, and Tijou the metal worker, all combined to beautify his structures.

Within the limits of our space it is only possible to glance at the interiors of a few of these churches, and note some of the treasures therein contained. St. Andrew's, Holborn, has its original fifteenth century tower, recarved in 1704. It is known as the "Poet's Church," on account of the singers connected with it, including a contemporary of Shakespeare, John Webster, Robert Savage, Chatterton, and Henry Neele, and can boast of such illustrious rectors as Bishops Hacket and Stillingfleet, and Dr. Sacheverel. The spire of Christ Church, Spitalfields, built by Hawksmoor, is the loftiest in London, and has a fine peal of bells. In the church there is an early work of Flaxman—the monument of Sir Robert Ladbrooke, Lord Mayor. The name of St. Clement Danes reminds us of the connection of the sea-rovers with London. Strype says that the church was so named "because Harold, a Danish King, and other Danes, were buried there, and in that churchyard." He tells how this Harold, an illegitimate son of Canute, reigned three years, and was buried at Westminster; but, afterwards, Hardicanute, the lawful son of Canute, in revenge for the injury done to his mother and brother, ordered the body to be dug up and thrown into the Thames, where it was found by a fisherman and buried in this churchyard. There seems to be no doubt that there was a colony of peaceful Danes in this neighbourhood, as testified by the Danish word "Wych" given to a street hard by, and preserved in the modern Aldwych. It was the oldest suburb of London, the village of Ældwic, and called Aldewych. Oldwych close was in existence in the time of the Stuarts. These people were allowed to reside between the Isle of Thorney, or Westminster, and Ludgate, and, having become Christians, they built a church for themselves, which was called Ecclesia Clementis Danorum.

There is a wild story of the massacre of the Danes in this church in the days of Ethelred, as recorded in Strype's Continuation of Stow, and in the Jomsvikinga Saga. As Mr. Loftie has not found space in Saxon London to mention this colony of Danes and their doings, I venture to quote a passage from Mr. Lethaby's Pre-Conquest London, which contains some interesting allusions to these people:

Matthew, of Westminster, also records this massacre of the Danes, and other authorities consider that the account in the Saga is founded on fact. However that may be, the Danes undoubtedly had a colony here of their traders, merchants, and seamen, and dedicated their church to their favourite saint, St. Clement, the patron of mariners, whose constant emblem is an anchor. Nor was this the only location of the Northmen. Southwark was their fortified trading place, where they had a church dedicated to St. Olaf, the patron saint of Norway. His name remains in Tooley Street, not a very evident but certainly true derivative of St. Olaf's Street. There are three churches dedicated to St. Olave, who was none other than St. Olaf. St. Magnus, too, tells of the Northmen, who was one of their favourite saints. Going back to the church of St. Clement Danes, we notice that it was rebuilt in 1682 under the advice of Wren, the tower and steeple being added forty years later. Dr. Johnson used to attend here, and a pillar near his seat bears the inscription:

One of the most important city churches is St. Mary-le-Bow, Cheapside. It is one of Wren's finest works; but the old church, destroyed by the Great Fire, had a notable history, being one of the earliest Norman buildings in the country. Stow says it was named St. Mary de Arcubus from its being built on arches of stone, these arches forming a crypt, which still exists. The tower was a place of sanctuary, but not a very effectual one, as Longbeard, a ringleader of a riot, was forced out of his refuge by fire in 1190, and Ducket, a goldsmith, was murdered. The Bow bells are famous, and one of them was rung nightly for the closing of shops. Everyone knows the protesting rhyme of the 'prentices of the Cheap when the clerk rang the bell late, and the reassuring reply of that officer, who probably feared the blows of their staves. Lanterns hung in the arches of the spire as beacons for travellers. The bells of Bow are said to have recalled Dick Whittington, and those who have always lived in the district where their sound can be heard are deemed very ignorant folk by their country cousins. Whittington's church was St. Michael's Paternoster Royal, Thames Street, which he rebuilt, and wherein he was buried, though his body has been twice disturbed. The church was destroyed by the Great Fire, and rebuilt by Wren.

It is impossible for us to visit all the churches, each of which possesses some feature of interest, some historical association. They impart much beauty to every view of the city, and not one of them can be spared. Sometimes, in this utilitarian age, wise men tell us that we should pull down many of these ancient buildings, sell the valuable sites, and build other churches in the suburbs, where they would be more useful. Eighteen of Wren's churches have been thus destroyed, besides several of later date. The city merchants of old built their churches, and made great sacrifices in doing so, for the honour of God and the good of their fellow-men, and it is not for their descendants to pull them down. If suburban people want churches, they should imitate the example of their forefathers, and make sacrifices in order to build them. Streets, old palaces, interesting houses, are fast vanishing; the churches—at least, some of them—remain to tell the story of the ancient civic life, to point the way to higher things amid the bustling scenes of mercantile activity and commercial unrest. The readers of these Memorials will wish "strength i' th' arme" to the City Churches Preservation Society to do battle for these historic landmarks of ancient London.

The Pageant of the Streets

Nothing helps us to realise the condition of ancient London, its growth and expansion, like a careful study of its street-names. It shows that in the Middle Ages London was very different from that great, overcrowded, noisy, and far-extending metropolis which we see to-day. It is difficult for us in these days to realise the small extent of ancient London, when Charing was a village situated between the cities of Westminster and London; or, indeed, to go back in imagination even a century or two ago, when the citizens could go a-nutting on Notting Hill, and when it was possible to see Temple Bar from Leicester Square, then called Leicester Fields, and with a telescope observe the heads of the Scotch rebels which adorned the spikes of the old gateway. In the early coaching days, on account of the impassable roads, it required three hours to journey from Paddington to the city. Kensington, Islington, Brompton, and Paddington were simply country villages, separated by fields and pastures from London; and the names of such districts as Spitalfields, Bethnal Green, Smithfield, Moorfields, and many others, now crowded with houses, indicate the once rural character of the neighbourhood.

The area enclosed by the city walls was not larger than Hyde Park. Their course has been already traced, but we can follow them on the map of London by means of the names of the streets. Thus, beginning at the Tower, we pass on to Aldgate, and then to Bishopsgate. Outside was a protecting moat, which survives in the name Houndsditch, wherein doubtless dead dogs found a resting place. Then we pass on to London Wall, a street which sufficiently tells its derivation. Outside this part of the wall there was a fen, or bog, or moor, which survives in Moorfields, Moorgate Street, and possibly Finsbury; and Artillery Street shows where the makers of bows and arrows had their shops, near the artillery ground, where the users of these weapons practised at the butts. The name of the Barbican tells of a tower that guarded Aldersgate, and some remains of the wall can still be seen in Castle Street and in the churchyard of St. Giles', Cripplegate, the derivation of which has at length been satisfactorily determined by Mr. Loftie in our first chapter, and has nothing to do with the multitude of cripples which Stow imagined congregated there. Thence we go to Newgate and the Old Bailey, names that tell of walls and fortifications. Everyone knows the name of the Bailey court of a castle, which intervened between the keep or stronger portion of the defences and the outer walls or gate. The court of the Old Bailey suggests to modern prisoners other less pleasing ideas. Now the wall turns southward, in the direction of Ludgate, where it was protected by a stream called the Fleet, whence the name Fleet Street is derived. Canon Isaac Taylor suggests that Fleet Street is really Flood Street, from which Ludgate or Floodgate takes its name. We prefer the derivation given by Mr. Loftie. On the south of Ludgate, and on the bank of the Thames, stood a mighty strong castle, called Baynard Castle, constructed by William the Conqueror to aid him, with the Tower of London, to keep the citizens in order. It has entirely disappeared, but if you look closely at the map you will find a wharf which records its memory, and a ward of the city also is named after the long vanished stronghold. Now the course of the wall follows the north bank of the river Thames, and the names Dowgate and Billingsgate record its memory and of the city gates, which allowed peaceable citizens to enter, but were strong to resist foes and rebels.

Within these walls craftsmen and traders had their own particular localities, the members of each trade working together side by side in their own street or district; and although now some of the trades have disappeared, and traders are no longer confined to one district, the street-names record the ancient home of their industries. The two great markets were the Eastcheap and Westcheap, now Cheapside. The former, in the days of Lydgate, was the abode of the butchers. Martin Lyckpenny sings:

And near the butchers naturally were the cooks, who flourished in Cooks' Row, along Thames Street. Candlewick Street took its name from the chandlers. Cornhill marks the site of the ancient corn market. Haymarket, where the theatre is so well known, was the site of a market for hay, but that is comparatively modern. The citizens did not go so far out of the city to buy and sell hay. Stow says: "Then higher in Grasse Street is that parish church of St. Bennet, called Grasse Church, of the herb market there kept"; and though he thinks Fenchurch Street may be derived from a fenny or moorish ground, "others be of opinion that it took that name of Fænum, that is, hay sold there, as Grasse Street took the name of grass, or herbs, there sold." Wool was sold near the church of St. Mary Woolchurch, which stood on the site of the present Mansion House, and in the churchyard was a beam for the weighing of wool. The name survives in that of St. Mary Woolnoth, with which parish the other was united when St. Mary Woolchurch was destroyed by the Great Fire. Lombard Street marks the settlement of the great Lombardi merchants, the Italian financiers, bankers, and pawnbrokers, who found a convenient centre for their transactions midway between the two great markets, Eastcheap and Cheapside. Sometimes the name of the street has been altered in course of time, so that it is difficult to determine the original meaning. Thus Sermon Lane has nothing to do with parsons, but is a corruption of Sheremoniers' Lane, who "cut and rounded the plates to be coined and stamped into sterling pence," as Stow says. Near this lane was the Old Exchange, where money was coined. Later on, this coining was done at a place still called the mint, in Bermondsey. Stow thought that Lothbury was so called because it was a loathsome place, on account of the noise made by the founders; but it is really a corruption of Lattenbury, the place where these founders "cast candlesticks, chafing-dishes, spice mortars, and such like copper or laton works." Of course, people sold their fowls in the Poultry; fish and milk and bread shops were to be found in the streets bearing these names; and leather in Leather Lane and, perhaps, Leadenhall Market, said to be a corruption of Leatherhall, though Stow does not give any hint of this. Sopers' Lane was the abode of the soapmakers; Smithfield of the smiths. Coleman Street derives its name from the man who first built and owned it, says Stow; but later authorities place there the coalmen or charcoal-burners. As was usual in mediæval towns, the Jews had a district for themselves, and resided in Old Jewry and Jewin Street.

The favourite haunt of booksellers and publishers, Paternoster Row, derives its name, according to Stow, "from the stationers or text-writers that dwelled there, who wrote and sold all sorts of books then in use, namely, A. B. C. or Absies, with the Paternoster, Ave, Creed, Graces, etc. There dwelled also turners of beads, and they are called Paternoster-makers. At the end of Paternoster Row is Ave Mary Lane, so called upon the like occasion of text-writers and bead-makers then dwelling there." Creed Lane and Amen Corner make up the names of these streets where the worshippers in Old St. Paul's found their helps to devotion.

Old London was a city of palaces as well as of trade. All the great nobles of England had their town houses, or inns, as they were called. They had vast retinues of armed men, and required no small lodging. The Dukes of Exeter and Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland, and many others, had their town houses, every vestige of which has passed away, though their names are preserved by the streets and sites on which they stood. The Strand, for example, is full of the memories of these old mansions, which began to be erected along the river bank when the Wars of the Roses had ceased, and greater security was felt by the people of England, who then began to perceive that it might be possible to live in safety outside the walls of the city. Northumberland Avenue tells of the house of the Earls of Northumberland, which stood so late as 1875; Burleigh Street and Essex Street recall the famous Sir William Cecil, Lord Burleigh, whose son was created Earl of Essex. Arundel House, the mansion of the Howards, is marked by Arundel Street, Surrey Street, Howard Street, Norfolk Street, these being the titles borne by scions of this famous family. The readers of the chapter on the Royal Palaces need not be told of the traditions preserved by the names Somerset House and the Savoy. Cecil Street and Salisbury Street recall the memory of Salisbury House, built by Sir Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, brother of the Earl of Essex mentioned above. Then we have Bedford Street, with Russell Street, Southampton Street, Tavistock Street, around Covent Garden. These names unfold historical truths. Covent Garden is an abbreviated form of Convent Garden, the garden of the monks of Westminster. It was granted to the Russell family at the dissolution of monasteries, and the Russells, Earls of Bedford, erected a mansion here, which has long disappeared, but has left traces behind in the streets named after the various titles to which members of the Russell family attained. In another part of London we find traces of the same family. After leaving Covent Garden they migrated to Bloomsbury, and there we find Bedford Square, Southampton Street, Russell Square, Tavistock Square, and Chenies Street, this latter being named after their seat in Buckinghamshire. Craven buildings, near Drury Lane, tells of the home of Lord Craven, the devoted admirer of the "Queen of Hearts," the beautiful Queen of Bohemia. Clare House, the mansion of the Earls of Clare, survives in Clare Market; and Leicester Square points to the residence of the favourite of Queen Elizabeth, and Villiers Street and Buckingham Street to that of another court favourite, the Duke of Buckingham. The bishops also had their town houses, and their sites are recorded by such names as Ely Place, Salisbury Square, Bangor Court, and Durham Street.

We might wander westward, and trace the progress of building and of fashion, and mark the streets that bear witness to the memories of great names in English history; but that would take us far beyond our limits. Going back citywards, we should find many other suggestive names of streets—those named after churches; those that record the memories of religious houses, such as Blackfriars, Austin Friars, Crutched Friars; those that mark the course of many streams and brooks that now find their way underground to the great river. All these names recall glimpses of Old London, and must be cherished as priceless memorials of ancient days.

The Heart of the City

In the centre of London, at the eastern end of Cheapside, stand the Royal Exchange, the Mansion House, and Bank of England, all of which merit attention. The official residence of the Lord Mayor—associated with the magnificent hospitality of the city, with the memory of many distinguished men who have held the office of Chief Magistrate, and with the innumerable charitable schemes which have been initiated there—was built by Dance, and completed in 1753. It is in the Italian style, and resembles a Palladian Palace. Its conspicuous front, with Corinthian columns supporting a pediment, in the centre of which is a group of allegorical sculpture, is well known to all frequenters of the city. Formerly it had an open court, but this has been roofed over and converted into a grand banquetting hall, known as the Egyptian Hall. There are other dining rooms, a ball room, and drawing room, all superbly decorated, and the Mansion House is a worthy home for the Lord Mayor of London.

The Bank of England commenced its career in 1691; founded by William Paterson, a Scotsman, and incorporated by William III. The greatest monetary establishment in the world at first managed to contain its wealth in a single chest, not much larger than a seaman's box. Its first governor was Sir John Houblon, who appears largely in the recent interesting volume on the records of the Houblon family, and whose house and garden were on part of the site of the present bank. The halls of the mercers and grocers provided a home for the officials in their early dealings. The site of the bank was occupied by a church, St. Christopher-le-Stocks, three taverns, and several houses. These have all been removed to make room for the extensions which from time to time were found necessary. The back of the Threadneedle Street front is the earliest portion—built in 1734, to which Sir Robert Taylor added two wings; and then Sir John Soane was appointed architect, and constructed the remainder of the present buildings in the Corinthian style, after the model of the Temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli. There have been several subsequent additions, including the heightening of the Cornhill front by an attic in 1850. There have been many exciting scenes without those sombre-looking walls. It has been attacked by rioters. Panics have created "runs" on the bank; in 1745 the managers just saved themselves by telling their agents to demand payment for large sums in sixpences, which took a long time to count, the agents then paying in the sixpences, which had to be again counted, and thus preventing bonâ-fide holders of notes presenting them. At one time the corporation had a very insignificant amount of money in the bank, and just saved themselves by issuing one pound notes. The history of forgeries on the bank would make an interesting chapter, and the story of its defence in the riots of 1780, when old inkstands were used as bullets by the gallant defenders, fills a page of old-world romance.

But interesting as these buildings are, their stories pale before that of the Royal Exchange. The present building was finished in 1844, and opened by her late Majesty Queen Victoria with a splendid state and civic function. Its architecture is something after the style of the Pantheon at Rome. Why the architects of that and earlier periods always chose Italian models for their structures is one of the mysteries of human error; but, as we have seen, all these three main buildings in the heart of the city are copied from Italian structures. William Tite was the architect, and he achieved no mean success. The great size of the portico, the vastness of the columns, the frieze and sculptured tympanum, and striking figures, all combine to make it an imposing building. Upon the pedestal of the figure of "Commerce" is the inscription: "The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof." The interior has been enriched by a series of mural paintings, representing scenes from the municipal life of London, the work of eminent artists.

This exchange is the third which has stood upon this site. The first was built by Sir Thomas Gresham, one of the famous family of merchants to whom London owes many benefits. It was a "goodly Burse," of Flemish design, having been built by a Flemish architect and Flemish workmen, and closely resembled the great Burse of Antwerp. The illustration, taken from an old engraving by Hollar, 1644, shows the building with its large court, with an arcade, a corridor or "pawn" of stalls above, and, in the high-pitched roof, chambers with dormer windows. Above the roofs a high bell-tower is seen, from which, at twelve o'clock at noon and at six in the evening, a bell sounded forth that proclaimed the call to 'Change. The merchants are shown walking or sitting on the benches transacting their business. Each nationality or trade had its own "walk." Thus there were the "Scotch walk," "Hanbro'," "Irish," "East country," "Swedish," "Norway," "American," "Jamaica," "Spanish," "Portugal," "French," "Greek," and "Dutch and Jewellers'" walks. When Queen Elizabeth came to open the Exchange, the tradesmen began to use the hundred shops in the corridor, and "milliners or haberdashers sold mouse-traps, bird-cages, shoeing-horns, Jews' trumps, etc.; armourers, that sold both old and new armour; apothecaries, booksellers, goldsmiths, and glass-sellers." The Queen declared that this beautiful building should be no longer called the Burse, but gave it the name "The Royal Exchange." In the illustration some naughty boys have trespassed upon the seclusion of the busy merchants, and the beadle is endeavouring to drive them out of the quadrangle.

This fine building was destroyed by the Great Fire, when all the statues fell down save that of the founder, Sir Thomas Gresham. His trustees, now known as the Gresham Committee, set to work to rebuild it, and employed Edward German as their architect, though Wren gave advice concerning the project. As usual, the citizens were not very long in accomplishing their task, and three years after the fire the second Exchange was opened, and resembled in plan its predecessor. Many views of it appear in the Crace collection in the British Museum. In 1838 it was entirely destroyed by fire. In the clock-tower there was a set of chimes, and the last tune they played, appropriately, was, "There's nae luck about the house." As we have seen, in a few years the present Royal Exchange arose, which we trust will be more fortunate than its predecessors, and never fall a victim to the flames.

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There is much else that we should like to see in Old London, and record in these Memorials. We should like to visit the old fairs, especially Bartholomew Fair, Smithfield, either in the days of the monks or with my Lady Castlemaine, who came in her coach, and mightily enjoyed a puppet show; and the wild beasts, dwarfs, operas, tight-rope dancing, sarabands, dogs dancing the Morrice, hare beating a tabor, a tiger pulling the feathers from live fowls, the humours of Punchinello, and drolls of every degree. Pages might be written of the celebrities of the fair, of the puppet shows, where you could see such incomparable dramas as Whittington and his Cat, Dr. Faustus, Friar Bacon, Robin Hood and Little John, Mother Shipton, together with "the tuneful warbling pig of Italian race." But our pageant is passing, and little space remains. We should like to visit the old prisons. A friend of the writer, Mr. Milliken, has allowed himself to be locked in all the ancient gaols which have remained to our time, and taken sketches of all the cells wherein famous prisoners have been confined; of gates, and bars, and bolts and doors, which have once restrained nefarious gaol-birds. Terrible places they were, these prisons, wherein prisoners were fleeced and robbed by governors and turnkeys, and, if they had no money, were kicked and buffeted in the most merciless manner. Old Newgate, which has just disappeared, has perhaps the most interesting history. It began its career as a prison in the form of a tower or part of the city gate. Thus it continued until the Great Fire, after which it was restored by Wren. In our illustration of the old gatehouse, it will be seen that it had a windmill at the top. This was an early attempt at ventilation, in order to overcome the dread malady called "gaol distemper," which destroyed many prisoners. Many notable names appear on the list of those who suffered here, including several literary victims, whose writings caused them grievous sufferings. The prison so lately destroyed was designed by George Dance in 1770. A recent work on architecture describes it as almost perfect of its kind. Before it was completed it was attacked by the Gordon rioters, who released the prisoners and set it on fire. It was repaired and finished in 1782. Outwardly so imposing, inwardly it was, for a long period, one of the worst prisons in London, full of vice and villainy, unchecked, unreformed; while outside frequently gathered tumultuous crowds to see the condemned prisoners hanged. We might have visited also the debtors' prisons with Mr. Pickwick and other notables, if our minds were not surfeited with prison fare; and even followed the hangman's cart to Tyburn, to see the last of some notorious criminals. Where the Ludgate Railway Station now stands was the famous Fleet prison, which had peculiar privileges, the Liberty of the Fleet allowing prisoners to go on bail and lodge in the neighbourhood of the prison. The district extended from the entrance to St. Paul's churchyard, Old Bailey, Ludgate Hill, to the Thames. Everyone has heard of the Fleet marriages that took place in this curious neighbourhood. On the other side of New Bridge Street there was a wild district called Alsatia, extending from Fleet Street to the Thames, wherein, until 1697, cheats and scoundrels found a safe sanctuary, and could not be disturbed.

Again, we should like to visit the old public gardens, Vauxhall and Ranelagh, in company with Horace Walpole, or with Miss Burney's Evelina or Fielding's Amelia, and note "the extreme beauty and elegance of the place, with its 1,000 lamps"; "and happy is it for me," the young lady remarks, "since to give an adequate idea of it would exceed my power of description."

But the pageant must at length pass on, and we must wake from the dreams of the past to find ourselves in our ever growing, ever changing, modern London. It is sufficient for us to reflect sometimes on the past life of the great city, to see again the scenes which took place in the streets and lanes we know so well, to form some ideas of the characters and manners of our forefathers, and to gather together some memorials of the greatest and most important city in the world.