63 THE GIANTS AT OLD ST. DUNSTAN'S CHURCH, FLEET STREET. ALAS, for the departing sights of London town! The City barge-and with it a full moiety of the glories of Lord Mayor's Day-has been sold by auction for £150 (cost £2,000), a wonderful bargain; though whether in its transition state it will ply between the bridges for penny passengers, or,, mindful of its old swan-hopping feats, extend its voyages to Richmond for the benefit of Cockney tourists, does not appear. Astounding degradation! Planks hitherto unpressed but by Mayors, Sheriffs, Aldermen, and Common Councillors, must now submit to liberties from clerks, warehousemen, and apprentices. Instead of moving grandly along the silent highway through a November fog, to the sound of drums and trumpets, with a dignified consciousness of its destination-the Exchequer at Westminster, it may in future be freighted with pleasure-seeking Londoners, entertained by a duet between a fiddle and a concertina. Shades of civic notabilities departed! if you are ever tempted to revisit "the glimpses of the moon," may you not be looked for in dreary mood, a ghostly company, in the state cabin of the desecrated City barge? What may Lord Mayors in future expect? Are they destined to perform the journey to be sworn in on the uneasy cushion of a hired cab; or even to go on foot? Let us hope, at least, that whatever reforms may happen as to the outward and visible street-show, that the Guildhall banquet will still flourish, and not a single tureen of turtle be wanting to the full tale of Corporation hospitality. Many City wonders have silently dropped into darkness. Where is the Saracen's Head, so long the glory of Snow Hill? The effigy of the Belle Sauvage, which used to blaze on Ludgate-where? The Bull and Mouth, at St. Martin'sle-Grand, remains-not the large pre-Raphaelite original, but a pun perpetrated in stone, too mystical to attract much notice. Well may we mourn over such defunct points of interest; but what are such losses to one now almost forgotten--that of the giants of old St. Dunstan's Church? We are tempted to revive their memory, that all whom it concerns may be on the alert to prevent something still more afflicting and terrible. Gog and Magog stand in unconscious security on their pedestals-not the originals, where, as we all remember, they stood sentinels over the clock, but spitefully disposed of in corners,-a doom vexing enough to exhaust the patience of these meekest of modern giants. Surely they are not reserved to be sold by auction, though possibly that was the fate of their brothers Anakimin Fleet-street. You can hardly recollect them; many years have elapsed since their final disappearance, and we must refer to the oldest inhabitant for a faithful description of them. It might have been said of the queer old church where they did duty, "St. Dunstan's stops the way." The architect, with ingenious perverseness, had made it to project so strangely from the Fetter-lane side of the street, that the road and footway were miserably narrowed, and those who paused to view the performance of the giants in muddy weathernine-tenths of the year-were sure to carry away more than they brought; for the first four-wheeler that passed could not fail to inflict a foul aspersion of miscellaneous filth. In the recess formed by the projection of the church, a painfully elaborate statue of Queen Bess was installed— ruffled, befurbelowed, and jewelled to a most ludicrous extent, with sceptre in hand and crown on head, looking defiance at the pedestrian crowd. The royal madam for whom it was intended could scarcely have seen it, or she would never have permitted so many wrinkles on her august face. In truth, the whole figure conveyed the idea of extreme age. We think the statue is preserved somewhere about the new church. The giants stood in front of the building, about 30 feet from the road, on a covered platform, each wielding a club-the bell being hung between them, which at the quarters, as well as whole hours, they struck, but so indolently, that spectators often complained that they were not well up to their work. The mechanism, too, was rough and clumsy. You could not help noticing the metal cord inserted in the club, to which its motion was due-the tall fellows who appeared to hold it being evidently a mere sham. Gog and Magog are giants in full dress The pair at St. Dunstan's were nude` almost to impropriety; their aprons were exceedingly narrow, and a rough, straggling, uncombed "fell of hair” formed the sole covering for the rest of their bodies. strong men of Guildhall might pass muster at a royal levée, but the sons of Anak from Fleet-street could not have hoped to be endorsed by any well-principled lord-inwaiting. The That wicked wit, Peter Pindar, declares that when George III. inspected a colossal Hercules, quite guiltless of drapery, at the Royal Academy, his sense of propriety was so outraged that he exclaimed to the attendants, "The Queen-Queen's coming; clap a blanket round him!" and we think the giants in question would have required a crinoline petticoat-at least if introduced to fashionable society. In the days of their glory, however, they were F |