dressed in kingly robes, and holding a royal sceptre. The bones of martyrs and holy confessors became a source of lucrative traffic; and so great was the demand for the relics of saints, that the grossest frauds were practised to deceive the faithful, and many a humble churchyard yielded up the remains of the poor and unknown, to simulate the dust of those who were reported to have departed in the odour of sanctity.

The pilgrim who visits St. Giles's, Cripplegate, that he may gaze with reverential awe on the spot of earth made noble by the ashes of Milton, will always feel a malison rising to his lips against the sordid parish officials who did all in their power to mutilate and dishonour the corpse of England's loftiest poet. Even if we believe that this rude desecration was really wrought in ignorance on the remains of the unknown dead, the monstrous character of such conduct is by no means lessened-the crime was committed in the full assurance that they were dealing with all that remained of Milton, the sublime poet, the indomitable patriot.

With feelings somewhat akin we contemplate the plan, now matured into a proposed Act of Parliament, for removing surplus City churches, and the bodies which have so long rested quietly in their graveyards. Has it never occurred to the excellent bishop who advocates this strange breaking up of so many cherished and hallowed associations, to try a different plan-to appoint a really energetic and eloquent preacher to each of the metropolitan sanctuaries said to be deserted? Would it not be possible to fill the empty pews, or rouse those that slumber in them, by saying, with the prophet Ezekiel, "Come, O breath! breathe on these dead"? Surely an awakening would follow. When the Bishop of Oxford preaches at St. Paul's, is there any lack of hearers? Yet the Cathedral is surrounded by little else than places of business.

Where do the hearers come from? If the churches are well filled, does it matter much from whence? Given an earnest and truthful preacher, mighty in his Bible, and zealous to save souls, and where was there ever an empty church? If a law were promulgated that all the glorious dead should be transported from their shrines at Westminster to new resting-places in nameless localities, what should we think of it ?—and would it be obeyed? And if an Act should pass to shift Wren's churches to suburban sites, and re-inter the time-honoured dust of grand old citizens coeval with Gresham, and the founders of London's best charities, in the cemeteries of yesterday, what would Mr. John Bull think of it? No doubt, many a pulpit is troubled with a drowsy pastor. The silence of neglect

and spiritual deadness, worse far than the rioting at St. George's-in-the-East, may have settled down on many a beautiful house of prayer where once the trumpet voices of our early Reformers were heard. Must the pulpits be removed-must the sounds of prayer and praise echo through those aisles no more? Seek out, rather, some Boanerges-some son of thunder-to dispel the unholy calm; the people will gather at his bidding, our fair sanctuaries may yet be preserved from destruction, and the mouldering remnants of past generations slumber undisturbed.

January 9, 1863.-Being anxious to inspect the restorations as recently made, I visited this ancient structure again, after a considerable lapse of time. Milton's bust, strangely enough, has been removed from the probable locality of the poet's grave to a comparatively obscure corner of the south aisle. The whole of the original monument, as set up by the reverential hands of the late Mr. Whitbread, has been preserved, and a canopy with columns of fancy marble added; but the work,

though elegant, is hardly suited to the grandness of the subject. Bacon's bust is extremely lifelike.

The centre arches on both sides now assume something of their early character, the galleries being removed, and the panelling which has so long obscured them stripped off. They have also been disencumbered of various tablets and monuments, which are now placed on the side walls, many of them at least ten or twelve feet from the ground, so that reading the inscriptions would be impossible without mounting a ladder. Malone, the editor of Shakspeare, on visiting the church many years since, feeling a deep interest in preserving the mural records, several of which were in memory of the great dramatist's age, asked permission to cover them with a coat of varnish, and this being repeated whenever any repairs were made, has given the marble exactly the appearance of old oak. Two of the Lucy family (so memorable for their quarrel with our national playwright) lie buried here (Thomas Lucy died in 1447). There is a tablet at the altar commemorative of John Fox, the martyrologist; and close to it a curious. monument with a bust of John Speede, the historian, whose wife and son were buried with him. Sir Martin Frobisher, the great navigator, found his last rest here (1594); and a singular person, a publican, for a long life in the parish-Thomas Busby, who bequeathed all his property, now of considerable value, for charitable useshas been saved from oblivion by a very singular tablet. It consists of the veritable effigy of the defunct, "in habit as he lived," painted in colours, to resemble the kind-hearted host of Cripplegate. His right hand is placed on a human skull; his left grasps a pair of gloves.

Most of the window-frames have been filled with painted glass, and the effect is tolerably good; but the pale, faded, nondescript yellow vitreous transparency over the communion-table is strangely out of keeping. The arch over

the altar, too, is wholly at variance with the pointed style adopted elsewhere. The complete restoration of the church, however, would include the necessary alteration and a Gothic ceiling.

The organ and loft remain untouched; and the outline of the noble western window, which was bricked up after the fire in the reign of Henry VIII., is entirely lost. Lowering the organ, which has been recommended, would be in doubtful taste, unless the tower could be completely renovated; but to crown the good work, all the oak pewing, comparatively modern in date, should be swept away, and the area chancel restored.

I could not leave the hallowed precincts without a stroll through the churchyard-not that it is now remarkable for any ancient gravestones-though no doubt, the surface having been raised several feet, much precious dust rests beneath. Yet a deeply solemn quietude reigns here. Scarcely a dozen steps from the noise and bustle of one of London's busiest districts, profound silence and retirement may be found. Without tree, or shrub, or tuft of grass, painfully bare and desolate—all the memorial stones being levelled into a sort of pavement, and no break left in the straggling dead earth but a long, narrow strip of gravel. I wonder whether the sun ever shines here. To my right, stern and terrible, rose the old tower, dark with the gloom of seven or eight centuries; and to my left, the most massive fragment of the ancient City wall now remaining, with a bastion in marvellous preservation. How many ages, how many reminiscences of the hoary past speak to us from this tumulus of blackened brick!

The shadows deepen around me-those grey-coated school-girls stare inquiringly. I must escape into Jewinstreet, or they may whisper to each other, "The old man is crazed!"

304

SIR HARRY DIMSDALE-LAST MAYOR OF GARRATT.

THERE was formerly, and for a long series of years, a custom of choosing a mock parliamentary representative for the village of Garratt, near Wandsworth, in Surrey, and the individual so appointed was styled Mayor. In 1763, Foote's farce of "The Mayor of Garratt' was produced at the Haymarket Theatre with great success, and the abilities of the two Bannisters, as Major Sturgeon and Sneak, gave it a firm hold on the stage; nor in our own times were those characters less attractive as performed by Dowton and Russell. Few persons have any knowledge of the strange custom alluded to, but as set forth in the dramatic extravaganza; and even Foote's wit is now so little appreciated, that an extract from the farce may be acceptable:

SCENE-A STREET.

Enter mob, with HEEL-TAP at their head; some with banners inscribed "A Goose," "A Mug," "A Primer."

Heel-Tap.--Silence, there-silence!

Mob.-Ay, hear neighbour Heel-Tap.

Heel-Tap.-Silence! and let us proceed with all the decency and confusion usual upon these occasions. Keep the peace! Am not I the returning officer? Stand back there, that gentleman without a shirt,