Giles, of which the sexton's house
seems to be an indivisible contiguity. This is a very ancient church,
that escaped the great fire of London. The galleries are supported by
arches, the pillars of which are cased high upwards with oak; but all
this oaken work and the oaken pews are comparatively modern, though so
solid and dark that they agree well enough with the general effect of the
church. Proceeding to the high altar, we found it surrounded with many
very curious old monuments and memorials, some in carved oak, some in
marble; grim old worthies, mostly in the costume of Queen Elizabeth's
time. Here was the bust of Speed, the historian; here was the monument
of Fox, author of The Book of Martyrs. High up on the wall, beside the
altar, there was a black wooden coffin, and a lady sitting upright within
it, with her hands clasped in prayer, it being her awakening moment at
the Resurrection. Thence we passed down the centre aisle, and about
midway we stopped before a marble bust, fixed against one of the pillars.
And this was the bust of Milton! Yes, and Milton's bones lay beneath our
feet; for he was buried under the pew over the door of which I was
leaning. The bust, I believe, is the original of the one in Westminster
Abbey.
Treading over the tombstones of the old citizens of London, both in the
aisles and the porch, and within doors and without, we went into the
churchyard, one side of which is fenced in by a portion of London Wall,
very solid, and still high, though the accumulation of human dust has
covered much of its base.
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