Page numbers in this book are shown as numbers in curly braces, e.g. {99}, in the left margin. They've been placed where the page breaks occurred in the original book. For the Index, a page number is listed only at the beginning of that section.

The original book didn’t have a Table of Contents. One has been added for convenience.

Here is shown the north front as it looked before the last restoration, i.e. we see the work of the eighteenth century and the façade as redesigned under the guidance of Sir Christopher Wren. The current front was built about twenty years ago.

"Kings are your nurturing fathers and their queens your nurturing mothers." From the reign of Edward the Confessor, the last ruler of the royal Saxon line, until the death of Elizabeth, the last Tudor queen, these words from the ancient Hebrew prophet were literally true for the grand Westminster. When Edward knelt in the Benedictine chapel at Thorneye, which had miraculously survived the attacks of the Danes, and promised to build a new church on that very spot to honor God and in the name of St. Peter, even his visionary spirit couldn't have predicted the glorious future of his cherished foundation. As the construction gradually progressed during the last years of his reign, he envisioned it being a burial place for himself and his successors. In his dreams, he might have even imagined the coronations of English monarchs within its walls, his own canonization, and the enduring connection between the throne and the monastery. Everything the above words suggest would have resonated with the devout founder, but what would his feelings have been if he could have witnessed through the centuries? He would have seen much to distress him, yet we believe he would have found solace, even in these later times when the monks are gone and the Roman Church is no longer the Church of his homeland. Three hundred years after Edward's death came the destruction of his church in the name of piety, but this was balanced by the beautiful and majestic buildings that arose from the ruins of the old, and by the dedication to the memory of the original founder shown by Henry III and his descendants. During the ages of faith, when the Pope ruled over England, king after king generously contributed to the construction, while their queens can also be counted among the benefactors of Westminster. St. Peter, the patron saint to whom the church was dedicated, was practically overshadowed by the legacy of the Saxon king, and it was to the English royal saint rather than to the Hebrew apostle that the Abbey owed its special sanctity. From the start, it was a royal foundation, a building consecrated to the memory of a king, yet none of these factors were considered when Westminster was included in the widespread decline of English monasteries. The sovereign himself seized the treasures donated by his devout ancestors in honor of St. Edward, and surely the saint’s body must have stirred in its coffin when, to protect it from disrespect, the monks had to remove it from the shrine and bury it underground. The shrine that had been the pride of every king since the days of Henry III, and honored no less by the first Tudor monarch, was stripped of its splendor: the shining golden top, visible from one end of the church to the other, was melted down; the jewels offered by royal worshipers and humble pilgrims alike, even the precious images of the sainted king and the holy evangelist, were cruelly taken to the palace treasury. None of these remain today, but the mosaic pillars and the foundation were hidden by the monks before they fled the monastery, and the lower part of the shrine was rebuilt by the daughter of the sovereign responsible for the devastation; we also owe her the wooden top that replaced the magnificent golden feretory. The monastic community, who were restored to their home by the same Queen, the "bloody" Mary of Protestant history, survived a few more years into Elizabeth’s reign, and the prior close connection between the Crown and the convent, severed with the final dismissal of the Abbot and monks, found a faint echo in the friendship Elizabeth consistently showed to the Dean of her new foundation. However, the Maiden Queen was indeed the last royal figure to provide significant benefits to Westminster Abbey. She re-established the collegiate church, which ultimately took the place of the monastery, and founded Westminster School; prior to her reign, the only boys taught within the precincts were the few scholars gathered in the cloisters by the monks. She is essentially the founder of St. Peter's College, which thus owes its status as a royal foundation to Queen Elizabeth.

Very rarely, however, in recent times has the church or the college been honored with a visit from the reigning monarch in propriâ personâ. At major events, like public funerals, the heir apparent sometimes attends, but the Crown is typically represented by a Court official, and the Dean's stall, which is only vacated for the reigning king or queen, has been occupied on very few occasions in the last hundred years. The Latin {7} play performed by the Westminster scholars every winter term used to be a festive occasion where royalty often attended, but that tradition was gradually phased out. In 1903, for the first time in this generation's memory, a royal guest, H.R.H. the Duchess of Argyll, attended the performance.

With the last of the Tudors, it’s clear that the strong connection between the palace and the Abbey weakened, though it has never fully disappeared, and it won’t as long as our sovereigns continue to be crowned in Westminster Abbey. Only then does the king regain all his historic rights, effectively sidelining the collegiate body, and people recognize that their national church is truly a royal special. While the kings visited St. Edward's shrine less frequently, their subjects increasingly flocked there, much like the pilgrims of old, making Westminster a national sanctuary rather than just the resting place of royal ancestors. A straightforward English squire, one of that "happy breed of men" for whom their homeland—"this little world, this precious stone set in a silver sea"—was more important than royal blood, was set to start a new chapter in the {8} history of the Abbey. We owe the first idea of this church as an appropriate burial site for our national heroes to Oliver Cromwell. The state funeral of Admiral Blake, held here at Cromwell's command, planted the seed that later grew into public funerals and monuments funded by Parliament for statesmen, soldiers, and sailors. The nineteenth century has ended, and there’s little room left in the Abbey for the notable figures of the twentieth century, but the national sentiment still instinctively turns to Westminster when a great person passes away. For a long time now, memorial services have taken the place of the burial or cenotaph, which were generously given to nearly anyone just a hundred years ago. Yet, while this ancient structure can no longer cradle her sons, her spirit might be more alive than ever since her altars were destroyed and the images of her saints removed. The smoke from countless candles and the fumes of incense no longer blacken her arches, but the spiritual breath of prayer and gratitude continues to rise to heaven from this ancient church, consecrated by the prayers of countless {9} previous generations. The old ways have changed, and a Protestant style of worship has long replaced the elaborate mass; no one can predict what further changes the future might hold. However, currently, church members of all kinds of religious beliefs can worship here without any extreme rituals disrupting their thoughts, and at the same time, without the irreverent and careless handling of services that troubled many souls in the days long before the current generation was born. On one festival each year, the Translation of St. Edward the Confessor on October 13th, Roman Catholics return in growing numbers to Westminster, which was once theirs, and you can see pilgrims kneeling around the shrine, offering their prayers to the saint. On this significant day, the Abbey's clergy, mindful of the founder's memory, celebrate his feast at their service in the choir, with a sermon in his honor, uniting Protestants and Catholics in a shared respect for the memory of the sainted English king.

There are several viewpoints from which the group of buildings formed by the Abbey, St. Margaret's Church, Westminster Hall, and the Houses of Parliament can be seen above the {10} rooftops of the surrounding houses, or without any obstruction in the way. A foreigner arriving at Charing Cross first sees Westminster from the railway bridge and gets another closer view as they reach the bottom of Whitehall. Now that passenger boats are operating again on the river, many people are familiar with the unparalleled water approach, but the traveler coming from the south or east no longer hires a boat from the Lambeth side to follow the traditional route taken by St. Peter when he came to consecrate the original church on Thorneye. Although the Roman road that ran north to south across the river here is completely forgotten in London, visitors would do well to walk to the Abbey through the parks. From the bridge over the Serpentine, there’s a distant view, and all along the way through Green Park and St. James's, there are glimpses of the Westminster Towers. Currently, with no building where the old aquarium used to be, one only needs to cross Birdcage Walk, take the old Cockpit passage into Queen Anne's Gate, and from Dartmouth Street, just across the way, they will see a magnificent view of the Abbey Church with its small companion, St. Margaret, by its side. {11} As they approach closer down Tothill Street, the unattractive Western Towers, which we owe first to Wren's inability to understand Gothic architecture and second to his successor Hawkesmore's lack of taste in execution, become too prominent.

The traveler coming to Westminster from this direction gets a stunning view of the entire Abbey from east to west. St. Margaret's Church, while it does slightly obscure the older building, enhances the sense of size. The statues of statesmen on the green in front set the stage for those entering the north transept through the triple doorway, which we've already seen in the frontispiece, preparing them for the impressive array of politicians inside. When we stand beneath the lantern, we can grasp the layout of the whole place much better after this general view than we would have if we had entered straight through the west door at the far end.

Below the problematic towers is the west front, which was completed up to the roof during the early years of Henry VII's reign, thanks to the tireless abbots, Esteney and Islip. Tudor badges can be seen in the last sections of the nave vaulting: the large west window with its beautiful Perpendicular tracery likely dates to Esteney's time (the last few years of the fifteenth century); and to Islip, who is often credited with the entire project, we now assign only the final touches that finished the west end. Henry and Islip were so captivated by their exciting plans for a new chapel at the east end that they ignored the necessity of having towers at the west, and the ones started by Islip were left incomplete for two centuries, until Wren addressed the issue. Islip also considered a central tower, but he never followed through with his plan. Wren even designed one, but the seemingly sturdy thirteenth-century {12} piers were found to be too weak to support its weight, so the idea had to be scrapped. Outside the west front, in the richly decorated niches, there used to be statues of kings and abbots "who had been benefactors," led by Edward the Confessor, to whose devotion we owe the very existence of Westminster, along with Henry III and Edward I. Among them were the great builders, Esteney and Islip, and likely, Henry VII himself.

The outside of the church has taken a serious hit from the effects of time and smoke. Before going in, it's a good idea to check out the exterior to get ready for a more detailed exploration of the inside.

The west front wasn’t built until about one hundred and fifty years after Richard II added a porch to the north transept, completing the thirteenth-century façade. The interior of the nave had been gradually developing all this time, and early in the reign of Henry VII, the vaults were finally finished, and the exterior was raised up to the base of the towers, overseen by two successive abbots, Esteney and Islip. We can barely see the upper part of the towers in the illustration, but that's okay since they were added by Wren and his followers in the eighteenth century and aren’t particularly well done. Because of the deteriorating condition of the stone used in earlier construction, this façade and the towers have recently been refaced, and the pinnacles have been reinforced. To the right of the picture are the windows of the Jerusalem Chamber, where Henry IV died. To the left, you can see St. Margaret's Church and part of the north transept, while in front is a monument dedicated to the memory of those "Old Westminsters" who died in the Crimean War.

Like the timbers of Nelson's old ship the Victory, the surface of the stone, often the very stones themselves, have been completely renewed since monastic times. The whole church has been frequently restored, but the exterior has suffered from the whims of architects, who found less opportunity for their own ideas inside the building, where the original stonework was better preserved. Much of the damage was also due to neglect, for after the dispersal of the monks, most of whom were capable of supervising the repairs, the lesser brethren—who actually worked on the building with their own hands—went through a long period during which neither the Church authorities nor the State took notice of the decaying stonework. Finally, during the time of Charles I, Dean Williams—who later became Archbishop of York—followed Abbot Islip's example and spent much of his own private income, since no funds were available, to repair the most crumbling parts of the church, especially the north-west, the west end, and the south-east chapels. He also remodeled the monks' dormitory, turning it into a library. The public was so ungrateful for these benefits that the Dean was accused of funding this necessary work "out of the diet and bellies of the Prebendaries," but he was fully exonerated by a chapter order in 1628, strongly denying the truth of "this unjust report." Williams's own disgrace and the long interregnum halted these improvements, and the ruin continued unchecked for the next twenty years or more. Dolben, a determined man who had fought for his king during the Civil War, became Dean soon after the Restoration, and on the very day of his installation, the first fabric fund was established from the Abbey's revenues, though it proved to be a very inadequate amount for the expenses. With this money, however, Dolben was able to repair the roof and vaulting, which were in danger of collapsing; later, in the seventeenth century, the fund was increased by a Parliamentary grant.

At that time, with Dean Atterbury's approval, the crumbling tracery of the north rose window was completely taken down and rebuilt. The south side had already been altered, and Wren criticized the small Doric passage that, during Atterbury’s time, had been added before the northern window, as well as the "cropping of the pyramids." In the early years of the 18th century, Wren was the Surveyor of the structure, and while he saved much of the stonework from irreversible damage, more destruction, wrongly labeled as restoration, occurred under his direction and later by his successors. The deteriorating stone all around the nave and both transepts needed urgent repair, if it wasn’t already in ruins, and probably to avoid trouble and cost, the small Early English pilasters that supported the window tracery were ruthlessly removed and replaced with an acorn in every instance. These pilasters have since been restored again under Mr. Pearson's guidance. As we walk along the green to the north front, we see the entire north side of the {15} nave, but before leaving the west end, we should note that recent repairs were made, as a few of the crockets were showing signs of imminent ruin, and even the 18th-century towers needed new facades. The north façade was completely restored and basically rebuilt about twenty years ago: the portico was designed based on the plans left by Sir Gilbert Scott, who was the Surveyor of the fabric for a time, and the upper part was done by his successor, Mr. Pearson, who oversaw the entire project. Both the north and west fronts are reminiscent of Wren, who redesigned the north and restored the west. Whether it was he or Hawkesmore who ultimately removed the last traces of Richard the Second's northern entrance along with the remaining figures at the west end is unclear. However, Crull, writing in 1713, noted that a few statues of the twelve apostles that decorated Richard's portico were still in relatively good condition, as were many of the "benefactors" on the west, "all undeniable witnesses of their former excellence." It is impossible to delve into the history of the fabric fund and the numerous restorations of the Abbey. For our current purposes, it suffices to highlight that the soft stone is continuously eroding, and {16} frequent oversight is essential. The saying that "the arch never sleeps" is all too true, and the Clerk of the Works must maintain a constant and watchful eye over the church he loves dearly, always ready to report any signs of change in the stonework or actual fabric to the Dean and the architect.

In our walk around the Abbey, we can now see these beautiful buildings clearly, which were previously hidden by houses. The two are in sharp contrast; the Chapter House, with its strict Early English style and distinctive flying buttresses from that era, is part of the monastery built on the site of the Confessor's original foundation by Henry III. The Chapel of Henry VII, featuring the later Perpendicular style of architecture, replaced an Early English Lady Chapel that had been on this spot since the early years of Henry III's reign.

We walk from the north front along the apse to the Chapel of Henry VII, and as we turn the corner, we get a clear view of the beautiful Early English Chapter House, with its flying buttresses, and we appreciate the absence of the buildings that used to sit right against it. The chapel itself was nearly collapsing in the early nineteenth century when, thanks to Dean Vincent’s efforts and a £42,000 grant from Parliament, it was fully restored. The work began under Dean Vincent but wasn’t completed until 1822, during Dean Ireland’s time; all of this was done with the help of a taste committee that guided the architect, James Wyatt. Unfortunately, even though Wyatt is commemorated by a plaque in the nave, his architectural reputation is not very high, and the so-called taste committee committed many acts of poor taste. Thus, it’s clear that significant damage was done to the chapel's original design, statues were removed, new bosses were added to the roof, among other changes, but the healing touch of time has softened the stone, and to the casual observer, it all looks equally old and harmonious.

The usual way to enter the church is through the north door, but the more convenient meeting spot is the west end of the nave. Our goal in the following pages is to depict a morning spent in the Abbey with a group of tourists, who have gathered somewhat randomly before we begin, and are now gathered under the statue of the younger Pitt. While most are likely British or American, with a few of our colonial friends sprinkled in, there will probably be some visitors from the West or the East, possibly even a person of color. As we walk through the aisles, everyone—regardless of their background—will likely be reminded of their own country by some grave or monument, and we hope to spark the interest of all. Before we begin, we want to honor the memory of Dr. Bradley, who dedicated a lot of his time and energy to showing people around the church he loved so much, following the example of Stanley, and continuing that tradition with the current Dean and his team. Royal family members, distinguished visitors, tourists from all over the world, and local folks, including his friends, were all warmly welcomed at Westminster Abbey. Every Saturday in spring and early summer, the late Dean would schedule tours, and on bank holidays, he was rarely absent from the Abbey, always ready to assist chance visitors and show them parts of the church that aren't easily accessible to the public. He would hang his maps of the church and its grounds in the Jerusalem Chamber on the days he expected groups, and here, before starting their tour, he would share some of the general history of the foundation with his eager audience. After that, the Dean would lead the way into the main building through the little door beneath the Abbot's Pew and show them all the most significant tombs and monuments. He now rests beneath the very stones he frequently walked over on these happy Saturday afternoons, close to the vault of an eighteenth-century Dean, whose heart was broken by his exile from the Deanery, and we will have a chance to discuss him later.

Standing in the southwest corner of the nave, we can see the entire interior of the church all the way to the east window. Behind this window, as we've learned from our earlier look at the outside, is the Chapel of Henry VII. Below, concealed by the organ screen, is the high altar, with the shrine of its founder, St. Edward the Confessor, beyond it. In the past, a rood was hung from the nave roof between us and the current wooden screen, which, although the stone below is crafted from the fourteenth century, is only about a hundred years old. Just beyond the rood stood the Jesus altars, both above and below, but there's no sign of these or the wall or screen they were attached to. Now we only see two large monuments on either side of the choir screen, which, as we get closer, turn out to be those of the great philosopher, Sir Isaac Newton, and a less famous figure, Earl Stanhope.

Although it's almost impossible to stand at the west end and talk at any length about the history and architecture, it's helpful to get a sense of the building's shape and the period of each section before we begin. On either side are the lower parts of the towers, and behind us is the great west window, completed during the reign of King Henry VII. The bells are in the belfry; the south-west tower, and the north-west tower is still called the baptistery because baptisms used to take place there. The font is now in Henry VII.'s Chapel. The glass of the window above us is from the time of George II, while the two smaller windows to the left and right are filled with fragments of ancient glass, just like the east window we see at the other end of the church. The building is in the typical cross shape, and we stand now, as if at the foot of the cross, with the nave and ritual choir forming the shaft, the transepts as the arms, and the apse, with its circle of small chapels, as the head. Behind the apse, as we noted earlier, is the Chapel of Henry VII., which replaces the old Lady Chapel. The nave is divided into twelve sections, intersected at the eighth by the choir screen, which holds the organ. At the twelfth section, where the nave ends, the ritual choir begins, and we can see the sanctuary and high altar through the open gates. On either side of the nave beyond the screen are the aisles, which are currently part of the choir. First, look at the elegant arcading of the triforium, then higher up, let your gaze move from the clerestory windows to the ceiling, 100 feet above us, and then along the clustered columns and arches straight in front. The whole space resembles the exquisite and unique beauty of an ancient beech avenue with its arching and intertwined branches reaching towards the sky. To all but those studying architecture, the church might seem to have sprung up overnight, so harmonious and perfectly proportioned are its lines, so carefully did the old builders adhere to the designs of the thirteenth-century architects. Henry III himself likely oversaw the plans, and we know that the King had seen and admired Salisbury Cathedral, then a relatively new building, before he decided to rebuild Westminster in the same style. In fact, it took two and a half centuries from 1245, when Henry ordered the complete demolition of the eastern end — the same part that the Confessor had watched being built and had caused to be consecrated before his death — until the reign of his distant descendant, the first Tudor king, when the last section was completed. Only a keen observer can detect the slight differences, mainly in the roof vaultings, that mark the different stages of the western part, and it’s hard to realize that the old Norman nave, separated by a wall from the new Gothic church, existed long after Henry's death, slowly being dismantled as construction continued. The period of Edward I is marked by metal rings around the columns, and it extended just one bay west of the present screen, where the Jesus altars and rood loft once stood, with a stone wall behind, now hidden by the wooden casing of the modern screen. Services for regular worshippers, the parishioners, were held by the monks at these altars, above and below the rood screen, but the lesson read from above was the only part of the High Mass celebrated in the choir intended for the congregation in the nave. By the early fourteenth century, the beautiful diaper work that decorated the triforium arcades stopped, which helps us date the later part. During the following century, the building practically stood still for a long time. Edward II didn’t help the monks, and Edward III was too poor and too busy with his many wars to focus on charitable donations. However, by the end of his reign, Archbishop Langham, a former Abbot here, left a large estate primarily meant for completing the nave, which his successor Litlington redirected to more urgent needs, like rebuilding the monastery, expanding the cloisters, and, with gifts from Richard II, adding a rich porch outside the north front. Henry IV died within the precincts, but there’s no record of any generosity on his part; however, his son Henry V provided an annual sum to support work on the nave, which progressed well during his short reign. The devout Henry VI, who loved the Abbey and often walked there with the Abbot and Prior, no doubt helped as long as he could, but the civil wars soon halted his support. We know he donated the wrought-iron gates that separate his father's mortuary chapel from the shrine, and the stone screen to the west of the shrine likely comes from his era. His successor, Edward IV, once he was settled on the throne, granted oak and lead for the roof, while his wife and the little son born in the Abbot’s house contributed money as thank-offerings. Another gap occurred during the troubled reign of Richard III, but by the end of the fifteenth century, when Henry VII felt secure in his title and established his dynasty, the west end was completely finished inside and out, and only then were the last remnants of the old nave cleared away.

We have briefly outlined the construction of the church we are in and now need to focus on the historical names that surround us on the walls and floor. The very first monument, the only notably artistic one within the nave, was erected in 1631 for a certain Mistress Jane Hill, and until nearly the end of the seventeenth century, few others were added. Unfortunately, from that point on, the practice of filling the wall space, even the floor itself, with memorials for soldiers, sailors, statesmen, physicians, scientists, and a truly diverse collection of individuals grew quickly, leaving no empty spot, and {28} the ancient arcading is completely or partially obscured, with some sections even cut away. The taste committee appointed to assist the Chapter was somewhat helpful here, as they advised the Dean to relocate a couple of monuments from the center to the walls, and the iron railings in front of them were removed. Dean Stanley, more than a century later, reduced some of the more prominent memorials, but none have been taken away, as there would be no end to such a challenging task, and in any case, the ancient arcading was already damaged.

Thus we begin our journey with some idea of the shape and history of the church that lies before us. First, let's check out the baptistery known as Little Poets' Corner, where you can see Wordsworth's seated statue and some memorials of literary figures, like the great teacher Dr. Arnold, who is next to his talented son Matthew, along with three notable theologians: Maurice, Kingsley, and Keble. The entrance is blocked by two massive eighteenth-century monuments—one for Cornewall, a brave sea captain, erected by Parliament, and the other for Craggs, a young politician whose posthumous reputation was tainted by his involvement in the South Sea Bubble. The older Craggs committed suicide when the Bubble burst, but the son died first, and Pope wrote a lengthy epitaph and oversaw the building of the monument. From this side, we turn to the other tower but won’t do a full tour of “Whig Corner,” as numerous politicians are found in the north transept, and we’ll mention the main ones in relation to their contemporaries there. The latest name here belongs to General Charles Gordon, a bronze statue given by the Royal Engineers seven years after the fall of Khartoum, but before the Mahdi’s defeat regained England's honor. It’s unlikely a Chinese person has joined our group; if one were with us, we’d highlight Gordon's contributions to the Chinese government and the honors he received from the Emperor. There’s only one other memorial related to China (in the north choir aisle), which was put up a century ago for Sir George Staunton, who served as Secretary on our first embassy to China. His eleven-year-old son accompanied him and even learned enough Chinese on the journey to interpret for the group; he later became a knowledgeable Chinese scholar. We pause for a moment to point out one of the few German names in the Abbey, William Horneck, whose father, a Westminster Prebendary, was originally from Germany; he was one of our early Engineers and gained recognition during the Duke of Marlborough's campaigns. When we reach the south transept, we’ll see a more familiar German name on the bust of Grabe, the well-known Oriental scholar.

We pass by the statue of a modern philanthropist, Lord Shaftesbury, who fought just as hard for the freedom of the white slave as Zachary Macaulay did, whose plaque is behind us in the tower, for that of the black. Shaftesbury's efforts on behalf of overworked women and children in mines and factories will never be forgotten, nor is the prominent statesman Charles James Fox, whose link to the abolition of slavery is marked by the unappealing monument in front of us, at risk of being forgotten. The life-size group shows Fox's dying moments in the arms of Liberty, with a Black slave kneeling at his feet.

If there's anyone interested in astronomy among us, they should look at the tablet at the far west end, which remembers young Benjamin Horrocks, the first person to observe the transit of Venus in 1639. Sir John Herschel praised him as the pride and glory of modern {31} astronomy. Herschel's bust is on the north wall, and he is laid to rest next to Charles Darwin, near the iron gate. We now leave the west end and move up the center of the nave, noticing as we head east the old wooden pulpit, which has been moved here from Henry VII's Chapel, replacing a heavy marble one that was given during Dean Trench's time to mark the opening of the nave for evening services. Trench himself left Westminster for Ireland, his home country, as Archbishop of Dublin, and the pulpit has gone there, but his body was brought back to England, and his grave is beneath us. Behind it is the name of American philanthropist George Peabody, whose remains rested in the Abbey for just a few days, reminding all Londoners of the original Peabody buildings, the first working-class homes built on the block system, which he founded and named after himself.

A few steps further, we stand above the grave of David Livingstone, another passionate advocate for the rights of black people, a figure cherished by both white and black individuals. If a traveler from South Africa is with us, they will be familiar with Livingstone's efforts among the indigenous people and the resistance he faced from the uninformed Boer farmers, who could not grasp his dedication to the colored race. He sacrificed his life for their cause, and he was so deeply loved by his "boys" that two of them carried his body through countless hardships and dangers across Africa to the West Coast, where it was shipped to England and eventually brought safely here. Right in front of us, to our left, we see the names of engineers and architects. We will mention the engineers later; we've already talked about two architects, Scott and Pearson, so we can move on to the men who suppressed the Indian Mutiny. However, we should first point out the brass of Barry, the designer of the current Houses of Parliament. Sir James Outram, Colin Campbell, Lord Clyde, and John, Lord Lawrence, are buried close together, just as they worked side by side for a common goal in India. Outram's monument, which is on the right-hand wall near Lawrence's bust, depicts the meeting of the three Generals—Outram, Havelock, and Campbell—when Campbell finally relieved the Lucknow Residency, a mission bravely undertaken by the first two, who themselves were surrounded after delivering supplies and ammunition to the garrison. Lord Wolseley's recent Autobiography vividly recalls the entire scene and also highlights the bravery of many forgotten heroes, most of whom he had previously fought alongside in the Crimea. Seven of these officers are commemorated by the rather mismatched stained glass below the rose window of the north transept. Among them is Lord Clyde's brigadier, Adrian Hope, who played a key role in the relief of Lucknow and was killed during the later reconquest of Oude. While Clyde might be seen as the conqueror of Oude, Lord Lawrence, who was a civilian and not a soldier by trade, was responsible for bringing the Punjab under control. In the north transept is the bust of Sir Herbert Edwardes, who worked with the Lawrence brothers at the start of the Mutiny and continued to assist John in his demanding tasks after Henry's death at Lucknow. Ten years before the Mutiny, Edwardes had already gained lasting fame in the Punjab when he put down the Multan rebellion, preventing that dangerous situation from escalating. A grave to the west of Clyde's, that of Sir George Pollock, serves as a reminder of another part of our Indian Empire—an ongoing source of concern—Afghanistan, where Pollock restored England's lost reputation after the Cabul disaster.

Buried, as he would have wanted, among these action-oriented men is a sailor who resembled the pirates and naval fighters of the Elizabethan era. Cochrane's acts of bravery in our navy outshone those of all his peers, but a charge of betraying the country he had served so well forced him into exile in 1814. His efforts found new purpose abroad, and his memory is honored by both Brazil and Chile as the founder of their navies; for the past few years, Chilean sailors have placed a wreath on his tomb every year. The stain was cleared from Lord Dundonald's name before his death, and he was laid to rest, as was right, among his peers; his banner and coat of arms were long afterwards restored to their places alongside those of the other Knights of the Bath in Henry VII's Chapel.

Immediately in front of us, on either side of the choir screen, two eighteenth-century monuments grab our attention. The one on the right honors several of the Earls Stanhope, particularly the first Earl, whose bold bravery could easily be compared to Dundonald's, but whose military career ended in failure and captivity. The action most often associated with him is a stunning cavalry charge at Almenara, one of the battles in the Peninsular War, where he killed a Spanish general in single combat. On the left is a man of peace, Sir Isaac Newton, whose discovery of the law of gravitation brought him worldwide fame, and whose reputation as a natural philosopher and mathematician was unmatched in his time. His funeral was attended by "the chief men of the nation," along with many distinguished foreigners; among them was the French philosopher Voltaire, who admired Newton so much that he ranked the English scientist above all geniuses in the universe. Those familiar with Roubiliac's portrait-statue at Trinity College, Cambridge, will notice the significant inferiority of this one (by Rysbrack), which depicts the great Newton reclining on a couch, wrapped in a dressing gown, and surrounded by allegorical figures and symbols that were favored by eighteenth-century artists.

It’s now time to head east, taking the right aisle, but before we get to the iron gate, a couple of memorials need some attention. Sir Palmes Fairborne’s tablet reminds us of our long wars with the Moors; it features an extravagant epitaph usually attributed to Dryden. Fairborne, as Governor of Tangier, fought bravely for a losing cause, and three years after his death, the area, which had become part of the English Crown as part of the dowry of Charles the Second’s queen, Catherine of Braganza, was finally given up to the Moors. Fairborne isn’t the only Englishman in the Abbey whose achievements against these black races deserve recognition, but while he had a Turk’s head as his crest to signify his early bravery in Candia, the other knight, Sir Bernard Brocas, rests his head upon that of a crowned Moor. There’s no record of the brave act that led Edward III to grant Brocas this special crest, but during Addison’s time, the vergers would point out his tomb, which we’ll see soon in St. Edmund’s Chapel, as belonging to "the old Knight who cut off the King of the Moors's head."

This chapel is dedicated to St. Edmund, the martyred King of East Anglia. The illustration shows part of the Duchess of Suffolk's altar tomb with her reclining figure, while in the background, part of Prince John of Eltham's monument is visible against the screen; above the screen are the canopies over the tombs of Richard II and his Queen, and Edward III. The red velvet cover over the shrine of Edward the Confessor is seen between the canopy and tomb of Edward III.

Our friends from the States will definitely stop at the monument of that ill-fated young British officer, Major André, because it features a small figure of General Washington. André, who was caught within the American lines during our war with the colonies, was dressed as a civilian and had suspicious papers hidden in his boots. He was executed as a spy and buried beneath the gallows. We see André here desperately asking Washington for a soldier's death while everything in the background is set up for his shameful fate. The heads of both these statues were frequently stolen by tourists back in the day, even as far back as the time of Lamb, and the Clerk of the Works always kept a fresh supply on hand. André's bones, brought back to his home country forty-one years after his death by a royal prince, were buried near the monument, which was built earlier at the expense of George III. {37}

Beyond the gate, to our left, another impressive monument grabs the attention of both Londoners and visitors from the countryside, as it depicts the assassination of Tom of the Ten Thousand, a younger member of the well-known Dorset family, the Thynnes, Marquesses of Bath. His killers were hired by a notorious foreign count who wanted to win over Thynne's rich young bride, but he failed to convince her to acknowledge his claims. The local Londoner gazes in awe at Pall Mall as it looked in 1682, when it was a lonely road surrounded by meadows, where highwaymen might demand your money or your life. If a Welshman happens to be here, he would likely be pleased to identify a fellow countryman in the coachman, whose descendants proudly claimed that their ancestor could be seen in the Abbey, sitting on the box of Squire Thynne's carriage. A little further along is the resting place of another member of the same family, William Thynne, who served as Receiver of the Marches for many years under the Tudor rulers. So far, we haven't been able to identify one of the many sailors whose memorials surround us in the nave, but now we are abruptly stopped by a monstrous figure with a huge wig lounging on cushions, which, we are almost embarrassed to admit, represents one of our most famous eighteenth-century admirals, Sir Cloudesley Shovel.

It’s better to shift the focus to the bas-relief of the wreck below and share the story of Shovel’s youthful bravery, when he swam from ship to ship under fire, carrying messages in his mouth, just like a Newfoundland dog. The strange and tragic tale of his end also needs to be recounted, when the flagship was wrecked on the dangerous Scilly rocks, and the Admiral's unconscious body received the coup de grâce from a heartless fishwife, who stole his signet ring, and after hiding it for thirty years, confessed her crime and returned the ring to Shovel's family on her deathbed. Equally in poor taste is the monument to Sir Godfrey Kneller, the painter of smiling beauties at the courts of five sovereigns, from Charles II to George I, and the only memorial to an artist, aside from Ruskin, in the entire Abbey. Kneller swore a strong oath that he would not be buried at Westminster, saying, "They bury fools there," but he himself designed his most unartistic cenotaph, while his friend Pope wrote the epitaph, which starts with the grand line: "Kneller by Heaven and not a master taught."

While most of our group is drawn to the last two prominent monuments, any Non-conformists among us are likely to pause by the mural tablet featuring medallion portraits, which Dean Stanley allowed the Wesleyans to place here in honor of brothers John and Charles Wesley. It bears the fitting words: "I look upon all the world as my parish," which John Wesley took literally. Nearby is the memorial dedicated to Dr. Isaac Watts, the great dissenting minister from an earlier era, whose hymns remain popular in both churches and chapels, just like those of Charles Wesley, which are even more widely sung.

To a Frenchman or Italian, a simpler tablet on the opposite side with a long inscription is more interesting because it honors Pasquale de Paoli, the champion of Corsican independence, {40} who took refuge in England, the land of freedom, and died here in 1807. The women, leaving the men to their study of the sailors and soldiers whose names cover the walls, ask about the bust of a young woman just beyond Paoli. Grace Gethin, although the only female author in the Abbey to have a monument dedicated to her—since the learned Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, shares her husband's tomb in the north transept—doesn't really deserve this honor. Her so-called immortal work, which she left to a group of admiring blue-stockings, turned out to be just a collection of excerpts from popular writers. The playwright Congreve, whose own medallion is below the Abbot's Pew in the nave, showed his lack of literary judgment by not only writing a poem praising the young writer but also allowing it to be published as a preface to the book, which went through several editions before the deception was uncovered. The annual sermon, which used to be preached in the Abbey in memory of the young heiress (she was only twenty-one) who left money for the purpose in her will, has become a thing of the past.

While the artists among us have been mourning the harsh destruction of the wall {41} arcading and will have reason to grieve even more in the transepts, the heraldry student is drawn to some damaged shields that deserve a closer look and have helped historians determine the dates of the choir and nave. The Confessor’s, with its familiar five birds, and Henry the Third’s arms with three lions are easily recognized in this aisle, and experts in this field point out many others, mainly the coats of Henry’s relatives, such as his father-in-law, Raymond de Beranger, Count of Provence, and his brother Richard, King of the Romans, one of the royal princes chosen to carry St. Edward’s coffin from the palace to the new shrine.

We’ve now arrived at the crossing, and if everyone in our group wants to thoroughly explore the church today, our next stop is the south transept. When time is tight, it's best for the guide to stop here, just highlight the Statesmen's Aisle and the Poets' Corner, and then move on through the iron gates to the royal chapels.

The illustration shows the south transept, looking towards the great rose window. On our right is the historical side, and on our left is Poets' Corner; from here, the statue of Shakespeare stands out the most among the many memorials that honor poets and writers. The glass in the window above and the lights below it are quite modern, installed as a memorial to the late Duke of Westminster in 1902.

To our right is the so-called "historical" side of the transept, which contains the monuments of many notable literary figures, not just historians, whose names are more familiar to us than most of the minor poets honored in Poets' Corner. The busts of Grote and Thirlwall were placed here by Dean Stanley, close to other classical scholars. These two friends each wrote a history of Greece without knowing that the other was doing the same, and Thirlwall's publication surprised Grote, but it didn’t affect their friendship. They are buried in the same grave, near Macaulay. We now stand on the tombstone of Dean Ireland; alongside him rests his youth companion and mature friend, William Gifford, who was editor of the *Quarterly Review* at a time when its harsh critiques deeply affected many rising poets, including Keats. Ireland's name will always be cherished by visitors to the Abbey, as it was under his direction that the nave and transepts, previously only accessible for a fee, were opened to the public for free. Next, we notice the quirky half-figure of William Camden. We see the famous antiquary and historian "dressed as he lived," with his hand on his great work, the *Britannia*. Camden belongs to Westminster in every way: as a boy, he was a protégé of Goodman, as a young man became an usher, and eventually became headmaster of the school. Later, he left teaching to focus on antiquarian research, encouraged by the Queen's approval and supported by his salary as Herald. He continued to live in Dean's Yard and enjoyed wandering the Abbey, contemplating among the tombs; the result of his solitary hours there was the first attempt at a guidebook, a list of the monuments, which was written in Latin and thus not useful to the average tourist. His own monument was unfortunately damaged about twenty-three years (1643) after his death by some rowdy individuals, probably Cavaliers, who broke into the Abbey one night, and on their way to vandalize Lord Essex's hearse, took the nose off poor Camden; the damage was repaired in the eighteenth century at Oxford University’s expense. Next to Camden, on a plain mural monument, is the name of Isaac Casaubon. We know him only by reputation as a prominent French scholar, who was lured from his homeland by King James I. with the offer of a lucrative canonry in Canterbury, but who only lived to enjoy the position—he was a layman—for four years. Surely there are fishermen among us: to them, the initials I. W. scratched on Casaubon’s memorial may remind them of the great angler, Isaac [Transcriber's note: "Izaak" in Index] Walton, even though we have no way of proving that these were indeed his handiwork; however, as a friend of Casaubon’s son, and a namesake and admirer of the father, there is nothing strange about connecting the two names.

The "burlesque" statue of the famous actor David Garrick, with "a mix of false ideas and nonsense inscribed below," will always be linked to Charles Lamb, who described it so fittingly. The memory of his lifelong friend, Dr. Samuel Johnson, is forever tied to Garrick; Johnson's familiar figure, in his brown coat and tied wig, stood out at the funeral, next to Shakespeare's monument, tears streaming down his face for the loss of his dear Davy. Five years later, Mrs. Garrick, once a brilliant and graceful dancer but now a little hunched old woman, stood by the doctor's open grave in this same transept, bent with age and overwhelmed with grief.

In this transept, there are memorials to another actor and actress, celebrated in their time. Barton Booth, a Westminster scholar under Dr. Busby, achieved great success in his career; his wife, once a popular dancer like Mrs. Garrick, erected the plaque. His memory lives on in two Westminster streets, named Barton Street and Cowley Street, after him and the place where he was buried. Mrs. Pritchard has a memorial near Shakespeare's statue, featuring a lavish inscription by the poet-laureate of the time. She started her career after Booth's death but lived long enough to perform on the same stage as Garrick, whose grave is just below her; she passed away ten years before him. Only one actress, Ann Oldfield, from an earlier generation (she thrived in the early eighteenth century), was actually buried inside the Abbey; a woman of limited character, but some talent, she rests near the Deanery door in the nave. When we get to St. Andrew's Chapel, we must remember to mention the colossal statues of Mrs. Siddons and her brother, John Kemble, who carried on the traditions of Mrs. Barry and Garrick at Drury Lane and Covent Garden during the first quarter of the nineteenth century.

We’ve strayed from our usual route to chase the lights of the theater world, and later we’ll find other familiar actors in the cloisters. A quick look around as we stand in the western part of the transept reveals that we are {46} surrounded by recognizable faces and beloved authors. We’ll talk about Addison later, so we can skip his rather inferior statue (by Westmacott), but just beyond it, we see the busts of Lord Macaulay and Thackeray, along with the medallion heads of Sir Walter Scott and John Ruskin; below them is Charles Dickens’s grave. Music lovers raise their gaze to the bulky figure of Handel, whose identity remained fundamentally German, even though he spent most of his life in England, at the court of the first three Georges. Beneath his monument is the medallion of the talented singer Jenny Lind Goldschmidt, commemorating the many times the Swedish nightingale wonderfully performed Handel's beautiful music for the British audience in a way that has never been surpassed. Close to us now is a reminder of the old monastic days—the door leading into an ancient chapel that was used by the monks as a vestry, and in front of it is the grave of Abbot Litlington, whom we’ve mentioned before and will mention again. Near his is the grave of a humble monk, Owen Tudor, who sought refuge during the Wars of the Roses and likely lived to see his nephew, Henry Tudor, become king of England. Above the {47} door, Oliver Goldsmith’s name brings to mind the early days of the English novel, when the Vicar of Wakefield was one of the very few in existence. Many of us have enjoyed his unique comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, on stage, along with those popular plays, The Rivals and The School for Scandal, by the other 18th-century Irish playwright, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, whose gravestone lies beneath us. The great portrait painter Sir Joshua Reynolds designed Goldsmith’s medallion, which disrupts the architecture and is so high that even classic scholars rarely try to read Dr. Johnson's grand inscription. The cynical English lines that the poet Gay wrote for his own tablet nearby are far more frequently noticed:—

Life is a joke, and everything proves it;
I believed that once, and now I understand it.

A ridiculous and pretentious statue to our left, with the famous name of Shakespeare below it, has caught our friends' attention, and they share their thoughts when we mention how close the bones of the sweet Swan of Avon came to being moved from Stratford to this resting place of poets. The monument itself was paid for by donations more than a century after Shakespeare's death, but the removal of his body was prevented long before that by Ben Jonson's objection and the dramatist's posthumous curse. The Scots with us, who just admired Chantrey's bust of their national novelist, a replica of the one at Abbotsford, now gaze up at the rugged face of Burns, their national poet. We pause to share that this memorial was placed here twenty-one years ago, funded by shilling donations from all classes in Scotland, from the highest to the lowest. Southey and Coleridge are the next names on the eastern wall, and we find their names familiar to anyone who has traveled in the Lake District, although few people read their works now, except maybe Southey's Life of Nelson. Campbell's bust is at the corner where we turn into the original Poets' Corner, and several around us recall his still-popular poems, especially "Hohenlinden" and "The Battle of the Baltic." A few steps further and we stand over the vault of Edmund Spenser, that prince of poets, who was buried near the tomb of Geoffrey Chaucer, the father of English poetry. Within this vault lie not only Spenser's remains, but also the funeral odes and the pens used to write them, which his friends, the poets and literary figures of the time, laid on his coffin, as old Camden tells us. Elizabeth herself, according to a contemporary writer, remembering the tribute to her in the Fairie Queen, ordered a monument to honor her poet, but this was never completed: she died three years later, and some said a greedy courtier stole the funds meant for this purpose. Whatever the truth, a literary Countess, Lady Dorset, made up for it twenty years later, but by the next century her memorial had fallen apart and was replaced by a copy, for which Gray's friend Mason raised money. After Spenser's burial, this area of the transept was dedicated to the memory of poets, and among many forgotten names are those of lasting fame. In front of us, for instance, are Ben Jonson and Milton. Jonson, who knew Shakespeare and benefited greatly from his friendship with Lord Bacon, died, like many of his literary contemporaries, in poor circumstances: like Chaucer and Spenser, he spent his final days in a house near the Abbey, on King Street, which has recently been torn down. His body was buried in the nave, standing upright; the words "O rare Ben Jonson," which are repeated on the monument, were carved on the stone at the expense of a certain Sir Jack Young, who happened to be passing by when the mason was putting down the gravestone. The ancient inscription has been placed against the wall to preserve the lettering, and a modern paving stone marks the location of the vault. The buttons on the poet's coat, which are displayed on the wrong side in his bust, led to the couplet:—

O rare Ben Jonson, what a traitor you've become,
You were never like this until you were turned into stone.

While boasting about himself, Ben waited a hundred years before his literary achievement was recognized with this memorial in Poets' Corner. In contrast, the strong Royalist sentiment kept Milton's name out of the Abbey entirely for the same duration after his death. So, even though both men passed away in the seventeenth century, their monuments were erected in the mid-eighteenth century. Milton's name was seen as cursed by the loyal Chapter, and it wasn’t until long after the Jacobite Atterbury's exile that a Dean (Wilcocks) was open-minded enough to acknowledge Milton's genius and allow one of his admirers, Benson, to erect a monument. The lyric muse above Gray's medallion {51} points to the bust of that master of poetry and prose, to whom he and all poets since Milton's time owe so much. Gray himself will always be remembered in the Abbey, as who can stand among the kings and look upon the "mighty conquerors, mighty lords," who established this island kingdom, without recalling the words of his famous ode?

Nowadays, when everyone agrees that Chaucer is considered the father of English poets, visitors to this transept naturally assume he was buried here because of his literary fame. But that's not the case. Once a favorite of kings and related by marriage to his powerful patron, John of Gaunt, Chaucer seems to have died relatively poor. He was the Clerk of the Works at the nearby royal palace and lived close to the old Lady Chapel; his burial in the adjoining church happened simply because he lived in the area. For nearly one hundred and fifty years, the only mark of his grave was a lead plate with a Latin inscription by an Italian poet, which hung on a nearby pillar. Eventually, a man named Brigham, who had a knack for writing verse, acquired an ancient marble tomb and got permission to place it against this wall. Since then, it's been known as Chaucer's tomb; however, it's still uncertain whether the poet's remains are still in the original grave, which later held Dryden's coffin, or if they were moved here. The modern window above, gifted by an American admirer, features portraits of Chaucer and his contemporary, John Gower. Recently, another stained glass window dedicated to the Confessor was added next to it. John Dryden, whose reputation rivaled Spenser's in his time, died, like Chaucer (1400) and Spenser (1599), at the end of a century, in his case the eighteenth, and being buried in Chaucer's grave near the entrance to St. Benedict's Chapel was a special honor. To see his beautiful bust, a copy by Scheemakers of an earlier version, we must step over the gravestones of two well-known modern poets, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Robert Browning. Nearby is Woolner's bust of Tennyson, which depicts the laureate in his middle years. The name of Abraham Cowley on a stone beside them may not mean much to us now, but he was highly regarded in his time, and Dryden owed a lot to Cowley, his immediate predecessor among the poets. Before we move on, there are two busts which are artistically much less impressive than Dryden's. The first is that of Longfellow, a name well-known on both sides of the Atlantic, of whom Americans are justly proud. On the other column is the bust of the Scottish Archbishop of Canterbury, Archibald Tait, placed here intentionally because nearby lies another Primate, also of Scottish descent, Spottiswoode, Archbishop of St. Andrews, who was a favorite of King James I and, by his order, the historian of the Scottish Church.

Before us is the monument erected one hundred and fifty years after his death to Geoffrey Chaucer, the father of English poetry. We see wreaths on the pavement that mark the graves of our two most distinguished modern poets, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and Robert Browning, placed there no doubt by some visitor to the Abbey who wanted to honor their memory. This spot is the heart of the famous Poets' Corner, and nearby is the vault where the remains of Spenser rest, along with the pens and funeral odes of the poets who attended his funeral.

Close together on the left are the monuments of three men, all former students of Westminster, with two of them having served as headmasters of the school. Busby and Vincent were strict disciplinarians, and their belief in the effectiveness of corporal punishment was later matched, if not surpassed, by Dr. Keate at Eton. Busby disciplined both the bright student and the less gifted equally, but he took pride in having nurtured many budding geniuses, including the future poet laureate, Dryden himself. Among those who suffered under his discipline was the eloquent preacher, Dr. South, who lies peacefully in marble by his side. For fifty-five years, Busby reigned supreme at Westminster School; he remained a loyalist through the tumultuous changes of the Commonwealth, and continued to support the Stuarts even during the unsettling regime that followed the Restoration. South, who was a Prebendary, is remembered here for declining the position of Dean, which Dr. Vincent, whose medallion is between these monuments, accepted a century after South's death (1816). Vincent's use of punishment was so excessive that Southey, a schoolboy at the time, protested vigorously against the headmaster's tyranny and was promptly expelled from Westminster. However, when he became Dean, Vincent redirected his considerable energy to more practical pursuits, and, as we've already mentioned, oversaw the restoration and preservation of Henry VII.'s Chapel, along with many necessary repairs to the Abbey structure.

Before we go through the iron gate and approach the head of the cross, which is the apse with its surrounding chapels, we should take a moment in the center of the church beneath the lantern. On either side extend the arms of the cross: we've just visited the southern arm, and we’ll leave the northern one for later. From here, we can take in the architectural features and note that the west aisle of the south cross is blocked off by the eastern walk of the cloister, a unique layout likely due to the fact that the old Norman cloister, which remained long after Henry the Third's church was built, was already situated here. Between the triforium and the roof of this cloister is a vaulted chamber known as the Muniment Room, where some of the Abbey's documents are still stored, and ancient chests hold archives that are gradually being sorted and reorganized. On the wall, you can see traces of Richard the Second's badge, the White Hart, on sunny mornings from below. We’ve already noticed the doorway of St. Faith's Chapel at the far southern end, where there are also the ruins of a small stone stairway that used to descend from the triforium level above the chapel into the monks' dormitory beyond. The large rose window, whose tracery has been remodeled multiple times since the thirteenth century, was refilled with painted glass two years ago in memory of the late Duke of Westminster. Looking the other way, down the north transept, we can see the statues of statesmen in the distance, which we will examine later. The northern rose window was also restored several times in the eighteenth century, losing its original character under Dean Atterbury's vigorous supervision. It is said that he even watched the workmen as they smoothed the old sculptures. Before his exile, the Dean selected the themes for the painted glass, the colors of which, softened by time, compare favorably with the modern lights below. From where we stand, we can see one of the few remaining stone angels blowing trumpets, which once adorned the spandrels of the arches and were part of the angelic choir surrounding the church. The arcading just under the window still exists, but below it, the architecture is completely damaged by two enormous naval monuments. The eastern aisle is separated from the rest of the transept and divided into three small chapels. The western aisle is partially cut off from the main aisle by large cenotaphs.

We look to the west and see the current choir, which extends to the organ screen. The stalls aren’t artistically noteworthy and were partly designed by Wyatt in the early 1800s; later, Blore added to them and was also responsible for the wooden casing of the old stone wall between the choir and the nave in 1848. Beneath the black-and-white floor, a gift from him, rest the remains of Dr. Busby.

From the high altar, we look down to the west end and see the stained glass of the west window above the choir screen, which was added during George II's reign. To our right is the tomb of Aymer de Valence, along with the smaller, contemporary monument of Aveline, Countess of Lancaster, the first bride ever married in the Abbey. In the foreground is the ancient mosaic pavement laid in the thirteenth century when this part of the church was constructed; beyond the altar rails, we can see the relatively modern choir stalls and the even newer organ case. The pulpit indicates where the sanctuary meets the north transept.

Facing east, we look directly toward the Holy of Holies, the Sanctuary, where, raised high on a {57} mound of sacred earth, brought from Palestine, is the shrine of Edward the Confessor, surrounded by a half circle of royal tombs. Between us and the saint's tomb is a fifteenth-century screen, which is faced on this side by a modern reredos, designed by Sir G. Scott. In front of this is the high altar. A bit below the level of the floor, on either side of the altar, are the bases of two pillars, which were part of the original Norman church and have helped experts determine the exact proportions of the Confessor's building.

Edward the Confessor wasn't made a saint for nearly a hundred years after he died, despite repeated requests to Rome by the abbots of Westminster. In the meantime, his coffin rested before this altar in a simple stone tomb, decorated with a lavish pall gifted by William the Conqueror. When our founder's name was finally added to the list of saints, his body was moved (October 13, 1163) to an ornate shrine, with Henry II and his friend Archbishop Thomas à Becket present. When this part of the old church was destroyed to make way for Henry III's new building, the original shrine was relocated to a temporary chapel, and a new, more magnificent one, which we will look at more closely shortly, was crafted by the same Italian workers who were also working on the pavement and later decorated the tombs of Henry III and Queen Eleanor of Castile. The materials—mosaic, colored marbles, and porphyry—used for this beautiful pavement, laid down in 1268, and for the royal tombs were all brought from Rome by Abbot Ware, who, along with his successor Abbot Wenlock, lies beneath the mosaic work that Ware supervised. The entire design, now partly covered by an old Persian carpet, represents the likely duration of the world according to the Ptolemaic system. On our left are three artistic tombs from the early fourteenth century, likely created by the same unknown artist. They resemble the hearses that used to stand in the church before and for some time after the burial of distinguished individuals. The recumbent figures replace the effigies of the deceased, which were typically made of wood and crafted to resemble the dead person. These were carried at the funeral and then placed on the hearse. The little statuettes around the sides represent mourners, and above them are depicted the lit torches and wax tapers that adorned the hearse. In the small tomb nearest to us lies Aveline, the wife of Edmund Crouchback, Henry III’s second son, whose own much more elaborate tomb is closest to the altar. Edmund and Aveline were the first couple ever married in the current church. Their wedding actually took place just a few months—in the spring of 1270—after the choir and transepts were opened for service. However, the north aisle of the choir was definitely completed before this marriage since the wall displays the arms of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester and King of the Barons, right next to the fleurs-de-lis of France. In 1263, a significant temporary reconciliation was arranged between Henry III and the proud Earl, which was confirmed at Boulogne in the presence of the French King, St. Louis the peacemaker. These shields must have therefore been carved around that time—certainly before Simon's downfall; he was killed in 1265 at the battle of Evesham. The arms of Aveline’s wealthy and powerful father, William de Fortibus, are also in this aisle. The heiress herself died young, leaving no children, and her husband inherited her enormous wealth, which he used to support the influential house of Lancaster. After Aveline's death, Edmund married a foreign bride and spent much time with her in Provins, from which he brought back the red roses that became the Lancastrian emblem. His eldest son, Thomas, the second Earl of Lancaster, met his end on the scaffold due to the scheming of Aymer de Valence—a tragic outcome of the friendship between their fathers, Edmund Crouchback and his uncle William de Valence, who were brothers in arms and had often fought side by side in the Holy Land.

A damaged painting on the side of Edmund's tomb once depicted ten Crusaders; among them may have been portraits of an uncle and his nephew, who both died (1296) within a week of each other during a disastrous campaign in Gascony that ended in defeat for the English forces. All three monuments—Aymer's is between those of the Earl and Countess of Lancaster—merit a close look, but we can only briefly touch on them now. Check out the noble and dignified effigy on Aveline's tomb, dressed in the simple attire of a prominent woman from the thirteenth century; it was once painted and gilded, and some traces of the red and white paint as well as the green vine leaves still linger beneath the canopy. At the feet, two dogs playfully snap at each other. The two warriors are illustrated in life and death: above each lies an armed rider with their visor raised, while below rest their serene forms in eternal sleep. The royal prince boasts a more elaborate monument with a triple canopy, but aside from that, there’s little distinction between the two. A portrait of Richard II. in his youthful glory hangs across from his relatives. The King, whose future seemed so bright but whose tragic fate elicits our sympathy, is shown in his coronation robes, holding the orb and sceptre, seated in St. Edward's chair on the ancient stone of Scone—snatched from the Scots by his ancestor, Edward I. Behind the portrait, a piece of tapestry that used to hang in the grand schoolroom reminds us that the entire sanctuary was decorated with arras and wainscoted during Queen Anne's time. The remnants of the sedilia south of the altar date back to Edward I's era and were long thought to comprise the canopy of an ancient Saxon tomb that the monks relocated from the Norman Chapter House, naming it after King Sebert, their traditional founder. We can see this more clearly from the ambulatory, along with the odd skull and cross-bones ornament, which is all that remains of the tomb of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII's rejected wife, who was the only one of all his wives to be buried in the Abbey. She was laid to rest here with a grand funeral service ordered by her friend and stepdaughter, Queen Mary.

Let's go back to the iron gate that separates the south ambulatory from the transept. Just inside is a small chapel, named after St. Benedict, the founder of the Benedictines, to which the Westminster monks belonged, and where his head was kept for a long time. The chapel is closed, but it's easy to see from the outside. Inside is the impressive altar tomb of Simon Langham, the first Abbot of Westminster and later Archbishop of Canterbury, who generously donated so that his active successor, Litlington, could expand the monastic buildings and cloisters. Other interesting burials are also found in this chapel. The tomb that takes the place of the altar belongs to Frances, Countess of Hertford, daughter-in-law to the Protector Somerset, who ordered the destruction of these altars, and sister to the famous Admiral, Lord Howard of Effingham, whose fleet forced the Spanish Armada to retreat. A well-preserved seventeenth-century brass, raised a few inches above the floor, shows us the likeness of Dr. Bill, the first Dean after Elizabeth reformed the collegiate body, which had originally been established by her father, Henry VIII, but dissolved by her sister Mary. Bill lived only a year at the Deanery, but during that short time he drafted the statutes, the core of which remains unchanged to this day, although the specifics have changed considerably. His successor, Gabriel Goodman, whose kneeling statue is against the south wall, served almost the entire long reign of Queen Elizabeth, dying just two years before her. We shouldn't stay too long in this little chapel, as voices from the past are urging us to move on to the burial place of kings.

In the immediate foreground on the left is the entrance to St. Edmund's Chapel, while the iron gates just past the back of the sedilia mark where the south ambulatory meets the south transept. Close behind the verger's desk is a pointed arch with a small tomb below, which holds the remains of various princes and princesses, and on it used to stand a golden statue of St. Catherine, the patron saint of Henry III's mute daughter Catherine, the first little one buried here. At the back of the arch, there are still traces of the mural painting that Edward I had done here to honor his children, six of whom were buried near their aunt. On the opposite side, we see the simple Saxon tomb known as King Sebert, whom the monks believed to be their founder. Part of Richard II's monument is visible behind the oak seat.

Near the entrance in the ambulatory is a dark arch, under which several royal children were laid to rest when the church was still new. The founder's beloved mute daughter Catherine, a beautiful five-year-old, was the first among the royal family to receive this honor. In ancient times, we would have seen a small gilt brass statuette of St. Catherine, her patron saint, kneeling here, alongside a silver portrait of the princess herself. Two of her brothers and four of her nephews and nieces, the children of her brother Edward I, were buried next to her. Edward {64} had the arch richly decorated and gilded, and a painting of his own children was added in the background. The eldest boy, Alfonzo, a twelve-year-old, was sent to Westminster from Wales shortly before his death, where, at his war-like father's command, he offered the coronet of Llewellyn, the last native Prince of Wales, at St. Edward's shrine. His brother Edward later became the first English Prince of Wales.

In the next chapel, dedicated to St. Edmund, king and martyr, we find other members of Henry the Third's family. To the right, forming part of the screen, is the tomb of his half-brother, William de Valence, whom we mentioned in connection with his son Aymer and Henry's son, Edmund Crouchback. De Valence was French, and not only was he a foreigner, but his arrogant personality made him quite unpopular in England. Yet his friend and cousin Edward I., ignoring public opinion, had this beautiful and expensive tomb made for him. It was originally covered with that rare and exquisite enamel work produced in Limoges, De Valence’s home region, but only a few fragments remain, particularly on the shield, the pillow, and the girdle. Once, in addition to the enamel and filigree decorations, there were 31 gilt images of mourners, each with an enamelled coat of arms above it, in the shallow arcades around the tomb. Almost nothing remains of all that grandeur, and the wooden chest that held the body—since it was customary to bury the dead above ground in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries—is completely stripped of decoration. On the other side of the entrance lies a royal Prince of English birth, John of Eltham, the second son of Edward II. and grandson of Henry III. To anyone studying armor, the alabaster effigy is particularly interesting as a representation of fourteenth-century military attire; the coronet is the earliest known example of ducal form, as the title of Duke wasn’t introduced in England until much later. The small crowned figures of royal relatives surrounding the base of the altar tomb are all damaged, while the triple canopy is long gone, collapsed under the weight of the crowds that used to pack the church for major funerals in the eighteenth century. John died at just nineteen but had already earned his spurs at the battle of Halidon Hill and was trusted by his inept father to command the entire English army in Scotland despite his youth. Close to John of Eltham's tomb is a small altar tomb with two tiny alabaster figures, twenty inches long, dressed in the stiff clothing of the period; these represent his nephew and niece, William of Windsor and Blanche of the Tower, the infant children of Edward III. In the center of the floor are two remarkable fourteenth-century brasses that have fortunately escaped destruction. One commemorates the Black Prince's friend, Archbishop Waldeby; the other honors Richard the Second's aunt, Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester. Nearby is the grave of a modern novelist and diplomat, Edward Bulwer, Earl of Lytton, chosen by Dean Stanley for its closeness to the tomb of Sir Humphrey Bourchier, a knight who was killed at Barnet Field, the victory that secured Edward the Fourth's claim to the throne. Lord Lytton wrote about this and other battles during the Wars of the Roses in his famous novel, The Last of the Barons. We don’t have time today to explore all the intriguing monuments in this and the adjacent chapel—dedicated to St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children—where among the tombs of grown-up people of high rank are the funeral urns of two tiny infants—but we can note the number of women buried or commemorated in both chapels. Most of them were prominent at Court during the Tudor period, and some were close relatives of Queen Elizabeth. The place of St. Nicholas’s altar is once again covered by a woman’s tomb; this time, it’s the widow of the Protector Somerset, that proud Duchess whose temper made life nearly unbearable for those around her.

We’ve already seen part of this chapel. In the foreground, there are two impressive fourteenth-century brasses set on low altar tombs. Behind the screen is a crumbling monument that used to be one of the most beautiful in the Abbey. Inside the wooden coffer above the stone base are the remains of William de Valence, half-brother of Henry III, and on top of it rests his effigy, which was originally covered in Limoges enamel, though only a few pieces remain, particularly on the shield and sword belt. Facing us is a large Jacobean monument dedicated to Edward Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, erected by his widowed Countess, whose effigy lies next to his. Through the pillars beyond the wooden screen of the Chapel, you can see the stone screen that separates Edward the Confessor's Chapel from the high altar, and beyond that, above the south arches of the Confessor's Chapel, are the openings of the triforium.

A large mural nearby commemorates a joyful marriage and captures the sorrow of the heartbroken husband. Elizabeth's trusted minister, the great Lord Burleigh, is shown here in his ceremonial robes, kneeling beside the recumbent effigies of his wife, a woman known for her intelligence and active kindness, and their unfortunate daughter, Anne, Countess of Oxford. At his mother's feet is the figure of Robert Cecil, the first Lord Salisbury of that name, who took over as his father's confidential adviser to the monarch. Neither the father nor the son is buried here. Lord Burleigh is buried at Stamford, his country estate, and on the day of his funeral, a grand service was held in the Abbey, a sign of respect that was repeated recently (August 1903) when his descendant, the late Lord Salisbury, was laid to rest at Hatfield. {68}

Returning to the ambulatory, we should check out this side of the royal tombs before turning the corner into the chapel itself. From here, the nearest one is Richard II.'s, which is too high for us to see well. The lower part used to be in terrible condition, and through the holes in the wooden chest that contained the royal remains, Richard's bones and those of his wife Anne could be clearly seen. In fact, schoolboys used to entertain themselves by tossing marbles into the sepulcher. It's said that one daring boy even took the King's jawbone; smaller bones and similar curiosities were easy pickings for the less courageous. Edward III's tomb, on the other hand, has never been messed with like that, although a few shields have been taken. But we can still see the six gilt brass images of his children on this side; the ones on the other side were stolen long ago. They include Richard’s father, the valiant Black Prince, whose tomb some of us are familiar with at Canterbury Cathedral. Queen Philippa's monument, the third in line, has been stripped of all its “beautifully carved niches” and little alabaster figures, not to mention the gilded angels and other lovely decorations that used to embellish it. The same sad story of looting and lost splendor repeats itself when we reach the top of the wooden steps leading into St. Edward's Chapel. The battered oak effigy of Henry V doesn't need our attention right now; we'll talk about that great monarch later. Standing in front of the shrine, we can't skip the often-repeated story of our Saxon founder—the captivating legend of his strange visions, one of which led him to choose Thorneye as the site for his monastic foundation. The story of his life and death is depicted by the stone images on the screen that separates the chapel from the high altar, likely erected by the devout Henry VI. One of the most beloved scenes shows the remission of the Dane-gelt, which may have occurred in the old Treasury, the Pyx Chapel; here we see the King pointing to the casks that contain his people's hard-earned money; a demon Dane used to dance on them, thwarted of his due. In another scene, Edward lies in bed, calmly watching a scullion rifling through his treasure chest, leaving with a mild reprimand from the gentle King. Further along, we see him seated at dinner between his wife and her father, Earl Godwin, while her brothers Tostig and Harold argue in front of them, reminiscent of their later quarrel over the crown, and Edward is stirred to a prophetic outburst of anger. The most significant scenes are the final ones, which recall the famous legend of the ring and the consecration of the Abbey. St. John, disguised as a beggar, is shown handing the ring Edward gave him to two pilgrims, who are instructed to return it to England and inform the King of his imminent death. This ring, taken from the incorruptible finger of the royal saint a century after his passing by Abbot Laurence, was stored among the relics. No doubt, the wedding ring of England, still placed on the sovereign's finger after they receive the symbols of royalty, has its roots in this sacred ring. We turn to the shrine itself, trying to envision it in all its original beauty before it was desecrated by thieves. To the west of the shrine is a modern altar; the ancient one was destroyed long ago, but until recently, a wooden table was temporarily set up here for coronations, which was replaced by this marble altar during the last ceremony. The modern gilt group above it and the gilded cornice are quite an eyesore and clash sadly with the artistic works of Roman artisans, Odericus and Peter. The wooden top, which lacks merit on its own but dates back to Mary Tudor's reign, is now covered by a velvet pall, which unfortunately hides the saint's coffin, once visible from the chantry. On either side of St. Edward's altar once stood golden pillars donated by Edward II; one had the golden image of St. John the Evangelist, while the other bore that of the Confessor himself. The stone base was entirely covered in intricate decorations, glass mosaic, precious stones, and enamels; the twisted pillars, richly adorned, remind Italian travelers of those in the cloister at St. John Lateran. Sick individuals used to crouch in the niches all night, believing that being close to the dead saint would cure their ailments. The coffin itself is raised above, as the old writers describe, "on a candlestick, to enlighten the world." Originally, it was housed in a magnificent feretory made of pure gold, decorated with gilded and jeweled images of kings, queens, saints, and angels. This was melted down, and all the valuable ornaments were sold when Henry VIII suppressed the monastery. The last Abbot, John Feckenham, tried to restore some of its former glory to St. Edward's Chapel. He rebuilt the shrine's base, which the monks had hidden before fleeing, and painted over the gaps left by the theft of the mosaics. He also rewrote the inscriptions on all the royal tombs, likely restoring the ancient words in most cases.

A small part of the ancient shrine is shown in this illustration, but we can see the only twisted pillar that still has some of its original Italian mosaic decoration, and behind the candlesticks is more of this beautiful work. The altar and the gilded group and cornice above it are more recent, specifically from the Coronation of King Edward VII. and Queen Alexandra; the red velvet pall with its blue linen cover was placed over the saint's tomb at the same time. A portion of the tombs of Edward III and Richard II can be seen on the south side of the chapel, with St. Edmund's windows above.

Neither Feckenham nor Queen Mary could afford a new golden top, so they had to settle for the plain wooden one. The surprising thing is that the royal chapel wasn't stripped completely bare of its treasures long before now. The relics were likely taken during the monastery's suppression. The silver head and armor of Henry V. were stolen during Henry VIII.’s reign, after the monks, who carefully looked after the Abbey, had been scattered. The silver cradle on the tomb of Edward IV.'s little daughter disappeared later. As we look around, we see the empty spots on Henry III.'s tomb where the mosaics and jewels have been taken; the arms of Richard II. and his queen are gone; that once magnificent work of art, Philippa's monument, so well described by Sir Gilbert Scott, is now a ruin. The Coronation Chair, now safely elevated out of harm's way, is actually covered with the names of tourists. Yet neither Henry VIII. nor the Protestant Protector Somerset, nor even those scapegoats, the Puritan soldiers, are completely responsible for these and other acts of vandalism. During the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, people seemed to wander around the Abbey, sometimes accompanied by a verger, often free to write their names or break off relics. The glass cases of the wax figures, which are filled with such records, show the careless guardianship of the church in earlier times.

The tomb of our second founder, the builder of this part of the Abbey Church, has, like St. Edward's shrine, faced a lot of damage from looters. The tomb was crafted by the same Italian workers who worked on the shrine, but the sculptures of Henry and his daughter-in-law, Eleanor of Castile, who is buried at his feet, were created by an Englishman, William Torel. On this side, we can see one of the porphyry slabs that Edward I brought back from the Continent when he returned from the Crusades a year after his father's death. In the niches below, some of the most valuable relics were kept. Beyond the small black marble tomb of Elizabeth Tudor lies that of Queen Eleanor, the first wife of Edward I, flanked by one of the entrance turrets to the Chantry of Henry V.

Fortunately, there's still much to see, and these partially destroyed tombs hold a lot of historical interest. One small pillar on the shrine is almost intact, and from the north walkway, out of reach of a man’s arm, we can see some of the mosaic decoration that once covered the tomb of Henry III. Thanks to their grilles, the silver-gilt effigies of Henry and his daughter-in-law, Eleanor of Castile, are safe from thieves and remain examples of the craftsmanship of an English artist, William Torel. The very interesting iron grille protecting Eleanor's image is also the work of an English craftsman, Master Thomas of Lewes, a smith from Sussex. We should mention that Sussex was an iron-producing region during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, likely well beyond that, as still evident in the hammer ponds today. Beneath us, protected by the linoleum, are fragments of the ancient pavement, and lying to the north and south of the shrine are two Saxon queens whose bodies were moved here from the Confessor's church when it was torn down by Henry III. Both were called Editha by the old English name. The elder is linked to the Abbey's first historical foundation, as she, the Confessor's wife, attended the consecration (Innocents' Day, 1066) of the choir and transepts, while her husband lay incapacitated on his deathbed. Her niece replaced the Saxon name Editha with the Norman Matilda or Maud when, through her marriage to Henry I, the two rival cultures united in one family. It's nice to remind our foreign friends that although we talk about English monarchs who were often at odds with their ancestors, the conflicts were more superficial than real. For many generations, these sworn enemies of France and Spain were married to French, Spanish, and other foreign princesses. They were not only related by blood but also used French as the language of their courts and legal documents. When they ravaged the beautiful lands of France or battled against Spain, Flanders, and Holland, they believed they were fighting to reclaim their lost heritage and the dowries brought by their brides. Long after England and France had completely split, Mary Tudor, a daughter of a Spanish mother and wife of a Spanish king, held desperately onto the last link that gave the English kings a claim to the fleurs-de-lis in their arms, her heart breaking when Calais fell. We previously mentioned the central tomb on the north side of the shrine, which contains the body of our second founder, Henry III., who, by the way, was married to a French wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine. We owe the current beautiful church to him, and not even the memory of the money extorted from oppressed Jews or collected through unfair taxes from his miserable subjects can dampen our enthusiastic gratitude. The slabs of porphyry and jasper on both sides were brought by Henry's son, Edward I., from Italy or France, when he returned across the Continent from the Crusades a year after his father's death. The coffin itself is, like the Confessor's, in the upper part of the tomb and, unlike those of Edward himself and Richard II., has never been disturbed; there's no doubt that the embalmed body of the King still lies here, untouched by the ravages of eight centuries. As we gaze upon the beautiful face of Henry's daughter-in-law, who lies at his feet, we forget that this isn’t a portrait but a conventional and ideal image of a queen. We think only of the young Spanish princess in the early days of her marriage, before the birth of thirteen children in rapid succession, the loss of many of these little ones, and the hardships she suffered in the Holy Land had marred her beauty. The old King desperately tried to keep Eleanor home when his son, Prince Edward, headed off to the Crusade. She steadfastly insisted on fulfilling her wifely duty in response to his fatherly pleas, repeating that the way to heaven is as close from Palestine as it is from England. By the time she returned, her kind father-in-law had passed away, and her restless warlike husband was rarely by her side from then on. Years later, when the Queen died, Edward seemed to remember her unwavering loyalty with regret, for never had any former English queen-consort received such a magnificent burial nor such an extravagant tomb. Two other monuments (which no longer exist), containing her viscera and her heart, were erected at Lincoln and Blackfriars. At every stop the funeral procession made between Lincolnshire and Westminster, the King raised a memorial cross in his wife's honor. All but three have been destroyed, but the last once stood as a prominent feature in Charing village, and a modern replica has been placed in the station yard at "Charing Cross." Eleanor herself left money for her funeral costs, and Edward donated large sums to the three convents, primarily to Westminster, to ensure anniversary services at his wife's tomb, where wax candles were always to be lit, and prayers continually offered for her soul. Edward's son and successor, however, was oddly lacking in filial duty. With his dying breath, the warrior King, who had defeated the Scots and troubled the Turks, ordered that his body remain unburied until Scotland was subdued, his flesh boiled, and his bones carried at the head of the victorious English army. His heart was to be removed and entrusted to a group of knights, who were to fight for the Holy Sepulchre, carrying the casket with them. These orders were ignored, and the plain tomb, with no effigy or monument, silently bears witness to the second Edward's failure to "keep faith." The embalmed body was buried here soon after the King's death, but the top slab remained loose, and for many years the cere-cloth was kept waxed, perhaps with the intention of fulfilling the dead sovereign's wishes at a later date. In any case, the cover remained untouched until the eighteenth century, when some antiquarians were allowed to lift it, and upon looking inside, they saw Longshanks' body lying there in royal splendor, wrapped in his coronation robes, with orb and scepter in each hand, a linen cloth covering his face. We cannot forgive the senseless destruction that followed. Boiling pitch was poured inside, and the lid was sealed after these vandals had satisfied their curiosity and jotted down every detail. Around the same time, chaos was wreaked upon the exterior, when the canopy was destroyed during a riot at the burial of the patriot Pulteney in the ambulatory below, and the iron grille, which had two little heads of the King, also vanished. The phrases "Scotorum Malleus" and "Pactum Serva" were painted at the orders of Abbot Feckenham, but they may have been part of the original inscription. The most significant trophy that the English conqueror brought from Scotland was the Stone of Scone, a reminder now of the union of the two kingdoms, but then a constant source of frustration for the Scots, who tried unsuccessfully to reclaim it. The chair that holds the stone was made during Edward's time and has since been used as the seat of our sovereigns during their coronations. Only once was a man of non-royal birth allowed to receive the insignia of government seated in the Coronation Chair, when Oliver Cromwell was appointed Lord Protector in Westminster Hall. The enormous sword behind the chair, carried before Edward III. on his military campaigns into France and Scotland, was likely used on the memorable occasion when he entered Calais in state after the siege, and his wife Philippa implored her stern husband for the lives of the twelve burgesses who brought him the keys to the captured town. We turn left around the shrine and approach the desecrated tomb of that good Flemish lady, who endeared herself to her English subjects through her wise and kind rule during Edward's frequent absences abroad and in Scotland. Her face, a portrait this time, reveals a simple countenance with full cheeks and rather prominent eyes, but still pleasant and full of character. The design overall was created by a Flemish artist, but English stonemasons crafted the details. A certain John Orchard, the artist behind the copper-gilt angels that once adorned the canopy, and likely also the figures on the King's tomb, made the small alabaster figures of Philippa's two children in St. Edmund's Chapel for the sum of twenty shillings. The white stone canopy with wrought-metal tabernacle work and gilt angels was actually removed as unsafe in the eighteenth century. The thirty alabaster niches, each containing a statuette of a royal mourner, and the alabaster angels with gilt wings have all vanished, except for the fragments of one, which were pieced together by Sir Gilbert Scott and are stored in a safe but dim corner. No sign remains of the iron grille that Edward purchased for his queen from a bishop's monument in St. Paul's Cathedral. The King's tomb is adjacent to his wife's: he kept the promise he made to her as she lay dying and lies beside her in the "Cloister" at Westminster. Froissart tells a touching story of the scene between the royal couple, when Philippa held the hand of her husband, who had so often been disloyal to her, and asked for this, her last wish. Near her bed stood Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, the only one of her fourteen children able to attend his mother's deathbed; he is buried near her tomb. Thomas was murdered on the orders of his nephew, Richard II.—who himself met an untimely end at the hands of a relative—and the grave of the victim is not far from Richard's own monument. We saw in St. Edmund's Chapel the fourteenth-century brass that marks the final resting place of the Duke's widow, Eleanor de Bohun, who retired to a convent after her husband's tragic fate. We've viewed the tombs of Edward III. and Richard II. from the ambulatory side; both are of English craftsmanship. Edward's tomb is more impressive and intricate than Richard's, which he had built in his own lifetime to hold the remains of his beloved first wife, Anne of Bohemia, and intended for his own body. Edward's effigy is purely conventional, but the long hair and beard have often been noted as a reflection of his neglected lonely deathbed. Indeed, this once-powerful King died alone except for the care of an old priest, saddened in his last moments by the loss of his heir, the Black Prince. However, his death was less tragic than that of his successor and grandson twenty years later, the details of which still linger shrouded in mystery. We know only that his cousin, Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster, took the throne for himself, and that the dethroned Richard died in prison; his body was buried anonymously at King's Langley and re-interred here long afterwards, with the honor due to a king, by the very son of his usurper, Henry V.

We see here the portrait of the delicate young King, whose hand used to be held by his young foreign bride, but both arms are missing. The robes feature Richard's symbols, the rising sun of Crécy and Poitiers, which was his father's favorite emblem, the broomscods of the Plantagenets, the fleurs-de-lis of France, symbolizing our monarchs' ongoing claim to the French crown, and many others. Beneath the canopy are traces of the two-headed eagle, the arms of Bohemia, and also the imperial eagle, since Anne was a sister of Wenceslaus, the good King of Bohemia, and a daughter of Emperor Charles IV.; at her feet lies the Austrian leopard. As we look at this royal couple, we remember the fateful day of Anne's funeral when her grieving husband, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, struck one of the powerful nobles who arrived late to the ceremony with such force that once again, during Richard's unfortunate reign, the pavement was stained with blood. The first time, a knight who had sought refuge here was killed by John of Gaunt's servants. In both cases, the Abbey was placed under an interdict for a time until it was cleansed from pollution by priests and bells. There is another brass, hidden beneath the linoleum near Edward the First's tomb, which links Richard to the Abbey and marks the burial of a commoner within the royal chapel—the only person of non-royal blood ever buried here. A wave of public outrage erupted when Richard ordered the Abbot to allow his favorite, John of Waltham, Bishop of Salisbury, to be buried within these sacred grounds, forcing the King to resort to bribery to achieve his request.

The circle of royal tombs, which includes those of two small princesses, is completed at the eastern end by the memorial of Henry V. The chantry chapel above seems to be shaped like the King's initial, but that's just a coincidence, as the letter H was designed in a different style back in the fifteenth century. Henry IV fell ill while praying before the shrine and died in the Abbot's study, the Jerusalem Chamber; however, his son did not create a tomb for his father's remains here. Instead, the first act of his reign after being crowned was to transfer his murdered cousin's body from King's Langley and bury it with royal honors in the tomb Richard had prepared for himself years earlier. In the Jerusalem Chamber, we can see the busts of the two Lancastrian kings. Here, only a bare and headless effigy recalls the victor of Agincourt, along with a worn helmet, saddle, and shield displayed above, all of which were carried at Henry's funeral. Henry's will provided for this large memorial, which extends into the eastern part of both Eleanor and Philippa's monuments. We access the chantry chapel above his tomb by stone steps worn down by countless pilgrims, who painfully climbed them on their knees to pray for the dead hero's soul. From this chapel, looking down before the pall covered the shrine, we used to see the Confessor's coffin and still enjoy the most impressive view of the church from east to west. Below, on either side, are the apsidal chapels. Facing the north ambulatory and forming part of the screen to St. Paul's Chapel is the monument of Henry's standard-bearer, Lord Robert, who received this prestigious position as a reward for his bravery at Agincourt. Among the now-defaced shields around the tomb, ancient heraldry scholars believed they found the quarterings of Chaucer's father-in-law, Sir Payne Roet of Hainault, and Robert's crest was even linked to his. Inside, the chapel itself is blocked by the enormous statue of James Watt, one of the inventors of the steam engine, but there are many fine old monuments against the walls. From here, we can see a grand altar tomb in the center of the same chapel, with alabaster effigies dressed in early Tudor fashion, representing Sir Giles Daubeney, the friend and Lord Chamberlain of Henry VII, and his wife Magdalen. Above them hang the Delavel family banners, which are over two hundred years old.

In this illustration, we see the niches in the shrine where sick people used to crouch all night to get cured by touching the saint's coffin above, which is covered by the pall. Beyond that is the Chantry Chapel of Henry V, with a bar across the top that holds the dead King's helmet, sword, and shield, all of which were carried at his funeral. The tomb itself, featuring a headless and battered oak effigy, can be seen through the open gate. Stone steps, worn down by the knees of many pilgrims, rise to the turret on the right, leading to a small chapel where the mummified body of Henry's queen, Katherine of Valois, now rests. She was buried here by Dean Stanley after being exhumed for two centuries and then hidden away in one of the vaults. From here, we also see the effigy and tomb of Queen Philippa, although the latter has been stripped of all its original splendor, including the alabaster angels and gilded statues of mourners.

Standing on the south side, we are now directly above the tomb of the impressive Countess of Buckingham, mother of Charles I's favorite, whose grand monument is located in Henry VII's Chapel. In the vault {86} below, the withered mummy of a French princess, the charming Kate, rested for over a century. This is the same Kate whom Henry V courts passionately in Shakespeare's play. Katherine lost her status at her son Henry VI's Court due to her second marriage to a Welsh gentleman of no rank, but in doing so, she became the ancestor of the great Tudor dynasty, which would eventually replace both her royal husband's line, the Lancastrians, and their rivals, the house of York. Yet, during the reign of her own Tudor grandson, Katherine's original tomb in the old Lady Chapel was destroyed, and her embalmed body was placed in a broken wooden coffin beside Henry V's effigy. Henry VII might have intended to properly re-bury his noble grandmother's remains in his new chapel, but after his death, nothing was done about it, and her remains became a curiosity for visitors to the Abbey until Dean Zachary Pearce buried them under the Countess of Buckingham's tomb. Dean Stanley moved the coffin and placed it in this chantry chapel against the east wall, where an altar dedicated to the Virgin used to stand. The ancient altar slab, discovered hidden beneath the step, now serves as the cover for the Queen's tomb. On the wall behind are the {87} badges of Henry V. The antelope and the swan, each inherited from his mother's family, the de Bohuns, are chained to a tree, and between them burns the cresset light, an emblem taken by the young King at his coronation as proof of his desire to be "a light and a guide to his people, leading them in all virtue and honor." The badges are repeated throughout the stonework both inside and out, while the niches are filled with numerous statues of royal figures, mitred abbots, and saints, notably St. George and St. Denis, the patron saints of England and France—the latter is depicted holding his own head. Above the arch over the ambulatory is a depiction of Henry's coronation in the Abbey. His figure, fully armored, is shown on the eastern side, crossing a raging torrent, while a castle with troops lined up in front of it is carved in the background. The shields of England and France, to which kingdom Henry was, as son-in-law to the French king and by right of conquest, the acknowledged heir, are also prominently displayed. We return below the chantry arch and descend into the ambulatory, where we have a clear view of the carvings mentioned, along with many others. Before us is a flight of stone steps that leads directly up to the other royal chapel, the mausoleum {88} of the Tudors and Stuarts. Beneath our feet lies the family vault of Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, a Royalist historian of the civil wars who was closely connected to the Stuarts and shared in the exile of his young master, who later became Charles II. In later years, the powerful Lord Chancellor fell from his high position at Court and was sentenced to lifelong banishment by the same prince he had served so faithfully in his youth. Clarendon's daughter married James II, then Duke of York, and thus, by the irony of fate, the disgraced favorite became the grandfather of two Stuart queens, Mary and Anne.

We can once again see the damaged tomb of Queen Philippa and the southern side of the Chantry Chapel. The coronation of King Henry V is depicted above the arch, with many small statues of kings, church leaders, saints, and angels carved above and below. In the spandrels of the arch are the coats of arms of England and France, while the cornice features some of the royal emblems. Below it, there are steps leading up to the Chapel of Henry VII.

At the top of the steps, a triple portico leads into the center of Henry VII's Chapel. On each side, narrow doorways open to the north and south aisles. The arch overhead is intricately carved and decorated with the same emblems we see on the bronze gates and throughout the chapel's interior. Among these are the Tudor rose, representing both York and Lancaster, and the portcullis, which was the emblem of Henry's maternal family, the Beauforts, who traced their lineage back to John of Gaunt. This badge, originally depicting a castle secured by a portcullis, symbolized Henry's undisputed (though not entirely flawless) claim to the throne, and he added the proud motto "Altera securitas." A crowned fleur-de-lis appears repeatedly on the walls, and on the gates, the shield of France is displayed next to the lions of England, as our English monarchs continued to assert their claim to the French throne. Other badges on the gates include the crown on a bush, which recalls Bosworth Field, when Lord Derby picked up the golden crown from the hawthorn bush where it fell after Richard was killed and placed it on his stepson's head. The daisy root belongs to Derby's wife and Henry's mother, Lady Margaret, whose tomb we will see in the south aisle. The falcon with a fetter-lock was a badge of Edward IV, which his daughter Elizabeth adopted after marrying the young Tudor king.

We walk through the middle gate and step into that stunning chapel, which old writers lavishly called the "orbis miraculum," the miracle of the world, and which has been unfairly criticized by narrow-minded fans of the Gothic style. Here, in contrast to the rest of the church, is pure Perpendicular architecture from the Tudor period. The stone work is intricately decorated in every corner, with details so elaborately carved that there's no empty space anywhere; {90} there are no less than 130 stone figures, 95 of which remain, contributing to the rich effect of the entire space. Angels and archangels, saints and martyrs, apostles and evangelists, the heavenly hierarchy and the sainted individuals from earth all had their places on these walls. Above us, the fan tracery of the stone roof seems almost to hang from the sky, so delicate and light is the craftsmanship. The Cambridge grad in our group, along with our tireless American friends, compares it to King's College Chapel, built around the same time with the same king's generosity and likely by the same architect. The windows used to be filled with stained glass, but only a few fragments remain, notably the founder's figure at the east end. The altar was dedicated to the Virgin and featured a statue of her made of pure gold, but both were destroyed during the reign of Henry's grandson, Edward VI, by order of the Protector Somerset, when the side altars were also removed and the glass shattered in a wave of Protestant fervor. Many years later, the tomb of Edward VI himself, which had replaced the high altar, was smashed to pieces by Puritan zealots who didn't realize they were defiling the monument of the first Protestant king.

This unique and beautiful chapel was built by King Henry VII and is located at the east end of the Abbey, elevated above the level of the older church. The entire structure is a marvel of delicate carving and rich ornamentation. In the illustration, we can see the hanging pendants of the stone roof known as fan tracery, and the walls are adorned with statues, with the spaces between them filled with Tudor roses, French fleur-de-lis, and other appropriate decorations. Behind the altar is the tomb of the founder himself; it is protected by a finely-crafted grille, within which we see the gilt bronze effigies of Henry and his wife, created by the skilled hand of Torrigiano, lying on an altar tomb of black marble. Above are the banners of the Knights of the Bath, which date back to the eighteenth century, and at the back of the stalls below are their coats of arms. George I reconstructed the Order, and for a brief period afterward, the knights used to be installed here.

The current altar was rebuilt under Dean Stanley's guidance using pieces from the old Italian pilasters and frieze that were found; one piece was even discovered at Oxford in the Ashmolean Museum. On it stands the cross presented by Ras Makonnen, the Envoy from Abyssinia, as a votive offering for the recovery of the present King after his sudden illness, which led to the postponement of the Coronation in the summer of 1902. Next, we look at the stalls, and it's worth noting that only part of these dates back to the sixteenth century, but the old seats can be easily recognized by their uniquely carved misereres. The rest were added when George I reconstituted the Order of the Knights of the Bath in 1725, and the banners above, as well as the coats of arms at the back of the top stalls, belong to the Knights. The Dean has served as the Chaplain of the Order ex officio ever since then. At that time, and for a long period, the installations of the Knights were held here. On one of the original stalls at the west end is a crowned figure of the founder, Henry VII, facing east. The name of this chapel has become so familiar to us that we often forget it was dedicated to the Virgin Mary and replaced the Early English Lady Chapel, which had existed on the same spot since the start of Henry III's reign. Henry VII first intended to dedicate his new chapel to the memory of Henry VI, and plans were made to move the saintly King’s remains from Windsor to Westminster, but due to disputes between the two convents, the plans fell through and were abandoned by the royal founder. The stone was laid in 1503, and although the building was not finished until 1519, Henry had practically settled every detail with the Abbot regarding the endowment before he died. His wife's body already lay at the east end, and Henry arranged for his own burial in the same place, along with the memorial services that were to be held in their honor. Some of the agreements between the King and the Convent are at the Record Office, while others are held by the Dean and Chapter. Sir Reginald Bray, head of the royal masons, is often credited as the architect, but he passed away shortly after the foundation stone was laid, and the chapel was completed sixteen years later, long after Henry VIII's accession, when the monasteries were in decline. Abbot Islip oversaw the building, and it is likely that Sir Thomas Lovell, whose bust has recently been placed near Lady Margaret's tomb, had some involvement in designing their monuments as executor for both the King and his mother. In any case, Lovell was a patron of Torrigiano, the famous Italian sculptor who created the beautiful effigies of the King, his wife, and his mother, as well as the ornate altar tombs on which the figures rest. A stunning bronze grille, similar to the gates, made by English craftsmen, protects the founder's tomb from damage. The overall design is adorned with roses and fleurs-de-lis, while the screen itself features the Welsh dragon of Cadwallador, the last British king, from whom the Tudors claimed descent, and the greyhound, a crest belonging to the Nevilles, relatives of Henry's wife. Most of the statuettes on the outside have been stolen; however, inside, around the black marble altar tomb, there are still twelve medallions intact, six on each side, each containing two silver-gilt images. The saints depicted are St. George of England, St. Denis of France, St. Edward and St. Peter, the Abbey's patrons, as well as the King's own special guardians. Among these, perhaps the most charming is the robust figure of St. Christopher with the tiny infant Christ on his shoulder, and the very graceful figure of St. Barbara holding her tower, which makes her easily distinguishable from the conventional Mary Magdalene next to her. Finely molded cherubs in gilt brass support the royal arms, showcasing the masterful work of Michael Angelo's great rival in all the other details as well. The effigies themselves are unique examples of Torrigiano's art, matched only by his other masterpiece, the recumbent figure of Lady Margaret in the nearby aisle. The King's thin face and sharply defined features bear a striking resemblance to his mother’s ascetic lined countenance, contrasting sharply with those of his youthful wife beside him, whose long flowing hair spills from under her close head-dress. In the empty space to the east, behind the grille, there used to be an altar where precious relics, including the leg of St. George, were kept. In the vaults below, Dean Stanley discovered the coffins of James I and Anne, his Danish queen. Nearby is the altar tomb with a white marble effigy by Boehm of the Dean himself; behind it is the memorial window he dedicated to his wife, Lady Augusta, whose portrait is depicted there, along with various familiar scenes from the life of her famous ancestor, Robert Bruce, including the well-known story of the spider. The coronation chair at the far east end of the chapel was made for Mary II, a queen regnant in her own right. Her husband, William III, whose claim to the crown was considered equal to hers, sat in St. Edward’s chair. The vault in front of it is now filled with a mixed collection of bodies, including some of Charles II's illegitimate descendants, whose names were engraved on the pavement, just like the names of others buried in this chapel, thanks to Dean Stanley's efforts. In this vault once rested some of "the chief men of the Parliament by land and sea," notably regicides Cromwell, Ireton, Bradshaw, a few of Cromwell's relatives, and the famous Admiral, Robert Blake. These, along with all the others buried in the Abbey during the Commonwealth who had any connection to the republican party, were disinterred by order of Charles II shortly after his return to the throne and buried in a pit at St. Margaret's churchyard, except for the three main offenders, the regicides. Charles took a futile vengeance on their decaying corpses, subjecting them to the treatment usually given to living traitors; they were hanged, drawn, and quartered at Tyburn, and their heads were displayed as a warning to their followers outside Westminster Hall. A few steps to the left, we see the stone marking the grave of Cromwell's beloved daughter, Elizabeth Claypole, whose untimely death shattered her father's heart. Her body was left undisturbed, likely out of respect for a woman who had been cherished by both Royalists and Roundheads. During Queen Anne's reign, a great General, the Duke of Marlborough, was temporarily buried in the Cromwell vault, but many years later, his body was relocated to his own mausoleum at Blenheim. Among the many soldier memorials in the nave and choir aisles are two that commemorate Marlborough's famous victories, Ramillies and Blenheim. The right-hand chapel is filled with the heavy monuments of the Richmond and Lennox family, and close to the old Duke's tomb used to stand the wax figure of Frances, Duchess of Richmond and Lennox, which has now been moved to the Islip Chapel. This lady was celebrated for her beauty and is said to have been the model for Britannia on coins. Her cousin, Charles II, greatly admired her and might have even made her his queen had "La belle Stuart" not eloped with her other relative, the young Duke. On the opposite side is the elaborate monument raised by his widowed Duchess over the body of George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, Charles I's unpopular favorite, who was cut down in his prime by an assassin. The white marble effigies of the Duke and Duchess, along with the group of their children above, possess their own merit. The elder of these chubby boys inherited his father's dukedom and was notorious at the Restoration Court, while the younger was killed heroically fighting for his king in a skirmish with the Parliamentary troops at Hampton, and was buried beneath this tomb. Nearby is a later, rather unattractive monument commemorating a patron of poets and a literary figure himself, Sheffield, Duke of Buckinghamshire. He built Buckingham House, where the palace stands now, and his wife, a left-handed descendant of the Stuart king, would sit dressed in mourning on the anniversary of Charles I's execution, drawing attention to the royal blemish on her family history. In the choir aisle, another unsightly memorial immortalizes her lack of taste and the forgotten fame of her favorite doctor, one Chamberlain. Close by is a plaque dedicated to her other medical friend, the noteworthy royal physician, Dr. Mead, one of the first to inoculate against smallpox.

This chair, the ancient throne of kings, sits in the royal chapel of St. Edward, backed by the 15th-century stone screen that closes off the west end of the Chapel. Within the wooden frame, specifically built to enclose it, is the famous Stone of Scone. This piece of Scottish granite was brought from Scotland in the early 14th century by the conquering English King, Edward I, and handed over to the care of the Westminster monks. It has remained in the Abbey ever since, and all our monarchs from that time to the present have received the symbols of royalty seated in the chair on the historic stone. The stone has been the subject of many old legends: it’s said to have been Jacob’s pillow when he had the vision of angels going up and down between heaven and earth; after that, it became the seat of kings in Spain, in Ireland, and finally in Scotland, where there’s no doubt that the Scottish monarchs used it as a coronation throne. The chair itself shows little evidence of its former glory; it was originally adorned with paintings. The lions were regilded at the last coronation.

Cut into the stones as we walk away from the chapel is the name of George II, the first Hanoverian king buried in England. He rests alongside his wife Caroline, a queen remembered fondly, and other members of their large family are nearby. The later Hanoverian kings gradually lost their connection to Westminster and are buried at Windsor. Through the gates and sharply to the left is the southern aisle, where we find three royal women's tombs and the names of many Stuart princes and princesses buried in the vaults. The first we encounter is Margaret, Countess of Lennox, niece of Henry VIII. Her marble altar tomb, featuring a reclining figure and the images of her children around the sides, is a fine example of late Tudor art, though not comparable to earlier pieces by Italian artists. Her older son, Darnley, with a broken crown above his head, kneels facing the monument of his wife, Mary, Queen of Scots, whose reputation will always be tarnished by her suspected involvement in his murder. We can't go into detail about her younger son, Charles, and his unfortunate daughter Arabella today. Arabella's coffin is next to that of Prince Henry, her cousin and fair-weather friend, who made no effort to save her from the consequences of his royal father, James I's, anger. The young prince died three years before the troubled lady, who lost her mind and slowly died in the Tower. Their aunt, Mary Stuart, with her severed head, was already in this vault, brought here by her son's devotion soon after he took the English throne. Alongside them are other relatives, including Henry's sister Elizabeth, Queen nominally of Bohemia, who in her last days ruled over no tangible kingdom, only the fragile realm of hearts. With his mother lies Prince Rupert, the bold Cavalier and daring sailor; nearby are the coffins of Henry, Duke of Gloucester, and Mary, Princess of Orange, both victims of smallpox—a terrible disease that devastated the rich and poor alike before the discovery of vaccination. They died at Whitehall Palace, where they had come to congratulate their brother, Charles II, on his peaceful restoration to the English throne, a time when they had shared so much trouble. The heavy monument that James I erected above this vault in memory of his "dearest mother" closely resembles Elizabeth's monument in the opposite aisle. This one cost about 100 pounds more than the other, making it somewhat more elaborately decorated. The white marble portrait effigy depicts the Queen in her middle age, offering no indication of her youthful beauty; at her feet is the Scottish lion, much damaged. Against the wall is the original warrant, signed by James himself, ordering the transfer of Mary's coffin from Peterborough to Westminster. We've already mentioned the tomb of Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, mother of Henry VII, who founded two colleges at Cambridge and a chair of divinity at both universities. Now let's pause beside it for a moment and observe the face of this cultured, religious woman who, after many trials in her early life, spent her final days in peace, choosing to live away from the world yet always ready to return to her son's court when he desired her company. Note especially the molding of her delicate yet capable hands. Torrigiano's head of Lovell just above also merits close attention, but we can skip over the poorly designed statue of Horace Walpole's mother and the unattractive monument of General Monck against the wall. Monck himself deserves far more recognition than he usually receives. His role in the restoration of Charles II was far from his only achievement; though trained as a soldier and a landsman, he previously distinguished himself at sea alongside Admiral Blake and later worked with his former enemy, Prince Rupert, in many battles against the Dutch fleet. He died standing in his tent, refusing to yield even to death, and was buried with military honors. Charles II, who disliked funerals and rarely attended them, was the chief mourner at his burial. On the step below are carved the names of Charles, his nieces, Mary and Anne, and their respective husbands. Their wax effigies, now in the Islip Chapel, once stood here and were the only monuments dedicated to the Stuart sovereigns—a fact that drew much mocking commentary from their political opponents. From this small chapel, we move to the one opposite, crossing once again at the top of the steps. At the entrance is a stone that immediately grabs attention, for it bears the touching epitaph dedicated by his admirer Tickell to the memory of Joseph Addison. We have seen Addison's statue in Poets' Corner, where it was ultimately placed after a suggestion to position it next to St. Edward's shrine faced the scorn it deserved. Here, the great master of English prose "rests in peace," alongside his friend James Craggs, whose memorial we have already pointed out at the entrance to the nave. Close to the grave is the mural monument of his "beloved Montagu," the first Earl of Halifax, who, like Sheffield, was a supporter of literature and literary figures. Addison's memory will always be cherished by those who love the Abbey, especially for his reflections on the church and its mighty dead, notably in relation to his creation of the genial knight, Sir Roger de Coverley. Buried next to Charles Montagu is his great-nephew, George Montagu Dunk, Earl of Halifax, who is primarily remembered today as the founder of the Colony of Nova Scotia; the capital, Halifax, was named in his honor. His monument is in the north transept. Beneath us, in General Monck's vault, lies their distant ancestor, Admiral Edward Montagu, who was made Earl of Sandwich by Charles II when Monck was granted the title Duke of Albemarle, as a reward for their contributions to the Restoration. Sandwich's tragic end and the battle of Sole Bay are noted on a double tablet we passed near the entrance to the south choir aisle. Due to some real or perceived slight from Prince James, Duke of York, who commanded the fleet at the time, Sandwich refused to abandon his ship when it was blown up by the Dutch, taking two naval lieutenants down with him. The loyalty of the young men to their doomed leader and their steadfast friendship for one another is commemorated on this memorial, which was erected by the two grieving fathers.

Raising our eyes from the floor, we see at the end of this chapel the large monument that was erected by her successor, James I, in honor of Queen Elizabeth. The white marble effigy rests under a heavy canopy; the face was molded from a mask made of her features after her death, making it a likeness. However, those who want a more realistic portrait of the great Tudor monarch in her old age should visit the Islip Chapel, where her wax figure is displayed. The moving Latin inscription, translated as "Consorts both in throne and grave, here rest we two sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, in hope of one resurrection," reminds us that Mary Tudor lies {104} beneath her sister's tomb. For nearly half a century, only a pile of stones from the broken altars marked the location of Mary's grave; beside the coffin is still a red velvet box that contains the unfortunate woman's dried-up, withered heart, which was ultimately broken after many sorrows, culminating in the loss of our last piece of French territory. Perhaps the word "Calais" is still written on it in invisible ink. The children's tombs behind were made by the sculptor who was then (1607) working on Elizabeth's monument. They express the grief of James I and his wife for the loss of their two daughters: the baby Sophia lived only three days, but her sister Mary had reached the fascinating age of two when a slow fever took her life. Between the two little sisters, who were his own aunts, Charles II placed a heavy stone sarcophagus containing some bones found in the Tower, near the room where the boy princes, Edward V and Richard of York, are said to have been smothered, and which likely holds their remains. Edward was born in the precincts, where his mother sought sanctuary from her husband's Lancastrian opponents, and was baptized in the Abbey, with the Abbot and the Prior as his sponsors. In later years, the young {105} Prince expressed his gratitude to the monks by contributing small sums of money, supplemented by gifts from the Queen, towards the construction of the nave.

This view shows the carvings on the north side of the Chantry Chapel of Henry V, where the King's coronation is depicted again, along with those on the arch connecting Henry VII's Chapel to the rest of the church. Above this arch, we can see a figure of Henry V on horseback, crossing a stream, with the tomb of Ludovick Robsert, a brave soldier who carried the King's standard at Agincourt and was knighted after the battle, to the left below. The banners hanging inside St. Paul's Chapel belong to the old Delavel family, and the metal bust seen over the screen is of Lady Cottington, the wife of Charles I's treasurer, whose tomb is beneath it; the bust was created by the well-known sculptor Hubert le Soeur. The Dean and his verger are seen here descending the steps from Henry VII's Chapel, where baptisms, weddings, and other special services take place.

We have spent quite a while among the royal tombs; now it's time to finish our visit to the church by walking back along the north ambulatory. Just beyond the steps on our right, we see the Chapel of St. Paul, which we previously viewed from the chantry above. There's a small stone statue, believed to be St. Anne, still attached to the ancient wall arcading; it's nearly hidden by the massive Renaissance tomb of Sir John Puckering. Puckering was Keeper of the Great Seal during Elizabeth's reign, and the figures of the purse and mace-bearer above the tomb are striking examples of the fashion of that time. We mentioned Pulteney, whose unattractive monument replaces the screen on one side, in connection with his burial in the Islip Chapel, after the canopy of Edward the First was destroyed. Sixteen years later, a similar disgraceful scene occurred at the funeral of a Duchess of Northumberland (the family vault is in St. Nicholas's Chapel) when the crowd, climbing on the screen to get a better view of the lady's burial, smashed the beautiful canopy of John of Eltham, causing some injuries to themselves in the process. From here, we have a clear view of the grille that protects Eleanor's effigy, and on sunny mornings, the outlines of an ancient painting can be seen on the stone panel below. This painting was done by Master Walter of Durham, the same artist who decorated the Coronation Chair, and is thought to depict one of the miracles attributed to the Virgin. In the eighteenth century, a knight, a woman with a child, and a tomb were still clearly visible. From this angle, we also get a better view of Henry the Third's tomb in its original state than from the royal chapel, as the mosaic work on the upper part remains untouched, where it couldn't be reached by the relic hunter's arm. We turn from the King's monument to a stone in the floor that marks the spot where a very different ruler, Pym, the King of the Commons, lay for a short time. His coffin was buried under the brass of a famous fighter, Sir John Windsore, who fought for Henry IV at Shrewsbury, a battle familiar to us from Shakespeare's historical play. The bodies of Pym and his friend Strode, the "Parliament driver," were disinterred and removed along with those of other Commonwealth leaders after the Restoration. To our right is the Chapel of St. John the Baptist, known as the Abbots' Chapel, where four of our mitred abbots are buried, two of whose tombs create the screen. The original doorway has been replaced by that of Ruthall, Bishop of Durham, who was once Henry VII's private secretary; he was a wealthy man brought down by his riches, which attracted the greed of Henry VIII and Wolsey—although Ruthall had spent part of his great wealth on public services, including building many bridges, notably one at Newcastle-on-Tyne. The current entrance was cut through a little chapel, which once housed an altar and a statue of St. Erasmus, originally given by Queen Elizabeth Woodville and moved here when the old Lady Chapel was torn down. Next to this is the chapel where Abbot Islip used to lie in solitary magnificence before the vaults were filled with other coffins. A black marble table tomb, with an alabaster figure of the Abbot on the lower slab, used to stand in the center. Above, in the chamber where prayers were said for the dead man's soul, are now the wax effigies. We have mentioned most of these before, except for the more modern ones of Nelson, an especially appealing representation of the hero, and of Lord Chatham. In a locked cupboard are remnants of the so-called ragged regiment, the earlier effigies that were carried at the funerals of our kings, queens, or other notable figures. Outside, the chapel is adorned with Islip's quirky emblem, a play on his name: an eye with a hand holding a slip or branch, and a figure slipping from a tree. In the ambulatory, not far from his successor Islip, lies another Abbot, Esteney, whom we referenced concerning the completion of the nave. His altar tomb has been lowered, and the fine brass is now only slightly raised from the floor; it was originally in the adjacent chapel of St. John the Baptist but was moved, and thus damaged, in the eighteenth century to make room for the massive monument of General Wolfe. We turn our eyes away shuddering from the marble group depicting Wolfe's death above and redirect our party's attention to the bronze bas-relief below, which shows British troops landing on the riverbank, then ascending the Heights of Abraham, and finally assembling on the plain before Quebec. In an unmarked grave nearby lies Admiral Sir Charles Saunders, without whom even the young hero, James Wolfe himself, couldn't have taken the city, for the sailors not only transported the soldiers to the cliffs' base, but also protected their position and cut off supplies from the besieged town above. Just inside the first of these three small chapels, which technically belong to the north transept, a beautiful Renaissance tomb catches the eye. Four kneeling warriors support a slab of black marble, which holds the armor and accoutrements of the deceased General, whose alabaster figure rests below. Sir Francis Vere was part of a famous family, "the fighting Veres," and served his queen and country well in the Netherlands. The effigy without armor signifies that Vere died in bed, not on the battlefield. At the end of St. Andrew's Chapel, there's a large and somewhat heavy monument, resembling a four-poster bed with a canopy, honoring "a brood of martial-spirited men," the Norrises, who, like Vere, dedicated their lives to the service of the Maiden Queen. All, father and sons, were renowned in war or distinguished in politics; four were killed in battle, one died of a broken heart, and only the youngest survived his parents. While the rest bow their heads in prayer, he alone looks cheerfully upwards. Behind this are statues of Mrs. Siddons and her brother, John Kemble, whom we mentioned before in connection to earlier actors and actresses, along with other more or less interesting modern memorials. In the middle chapel, dedicated to St. Michael, the theatrical monument to Lady Elizabeth Nightingale, a grotesque tour de force by Roubiliac, is sure to elicit some comments, but we prefer to move to a curious tablet on the wall beyond it, commemorating a certain Mrs. Ann Kirton, with a large eye above it (presumably that of her widower), from which tears spill over the inscription. Hidden away at the back of another monument on the opposite side is a tablet in the worst style of the eighteenth century. Above a small sinking ship, the large and material soul of a brave sailor is seen ascending to heaven, and we remind our group of Cowper's well-known poem about the wreck of the Royal George and Admiral Kempenfelt's untimely death.

His sword was in its sheath,
He held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,
With 800 men.

To the right as we pass by again is a mural dedicated to Sir John Franklin, the explorer who found the North-West Passage. It depicts the loss of him and his brave crew among the unyielding walls of snow and ice; below it is a well-known epitaph by Tennyson—lines that move the hearts of everyone who stops to read them.

The apse circle is now complete, and we walk through the iron gate into the Statesmen's Aisle. All around us are the graves and statues of British politicians, whose names are largely well-known at home and still remembered abroad. Alongside them are memorials for soldiers, sailors, lawyers, and a few others, some of which we will mention briefly. Prominently displayed against the first column is the statue of Sir Robert Peel, inappropriately draped in a Roman toga. Next to it is Brock's figure of William Ewart Gladstone, placed in 1903, showing him in a pose that will be familiar to anyone who has heard him address the House of Commons or a political meeting. Gladstone's Life has already been available to the public, but the official biography of Benjamin Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield, the leader of the opposing party, is just now being written, even though {112} twenty-five years have passed since his death. Beaconsfield's statue stands by the next pillar, and if it's a day in late April, we would see primrose wreaths arranged around its feet, a tribute from those who uphold the imperialist ideas that Disraeli established. Soon, a memorial, also approved by Parliament, for Robert Cecil, Marquess of Salisbury, Beaconsfield's successor as head of the Tory party, will also be placed alongside his peers in this temple of silence and reconciliation.

The north transept is known as the Statesman's Aisle, filled with statues of government ministers and other politicians; along with these, there are lawyers, soldiers, and sailors. From this point, you can see Sir Robert Peel's statue in the right foreground, with Gladstone and Beaconsfield clearly visible behind him. Looking down the aisle, you can spot the rose window, which was adorned with stained glass in the eighteenth century during Dean Atterbury's time, along with the impressive early wall arcadings below. In the spandrels, there are two beautiful stone angels that are just visible in the illustration.

Beyond are the tombs of the first and third Dukes of Newcastle. The first, William Cavendish, was a loyal supporter of Charles I, and in his service, he lost his estates and fortune, but he returned to prosperity after the Restoration. His wife shared in his troubles and his rewards. Her reputation as a literary figure and author is marked by the pen and inkhorn next to her effigy; in her hands is an open book. The third Duke, John Holles, married their granddaughter and was considered the richest subject in the kingdom by his contemporaries. He lived during the reign of Queen Anne, when the standard of wealth was much lower than it is today. One of the slender columns in St. Michael's Chapel behind still retains its original polish, giving us an idea of what the whole church looked like before the London atmosphere had corroded and blurred the surface of the Purbeck marble. Statues of the three Cannings stand between these two tombs. The one closest to our time, who died in 1880, is Stratford Canning, better known as Viscount de Redcliffe, who was British Ambassador in the East for fifty years. His cousin, Earl Canning, was Viceroy of India during the Mutiny and was succeeded in that role, after the situation was stabilized, by Lord Lawrence, whose grave and bust we saw in the nave. From the third statue, that of George Canning, Prime Minister in 1827, we look across the transept to his colleague in his last Cabinet, Lord Palmerston, a statesman who will always be associated with our foreign policy during the first half of Queen Victoria's reign. Further to the left is another Tory politician, Viscount Castlereagh, with whom George Canning actually fought a duel; however, the two men reconciled, and Canning later succeeded his former rival at the Foreign Office. Castlereagh had an unfortunate end and was unpopular during his life. He committed suicide while temporarily insane, and his burial here prompted a large outcry, with an angry mob outside hammering on the church doors while the funeral service occurred inside. The huge monument that fills the last arch on the western side was erected by Parliament at a cost of 6000 pounds as a tribute to the legacy of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham. Bacon was responsible for this excess, while Westmacott created the equally gaudy allegorical group over the west door, which commemorates the younger Pitt. Father and son lie together in this aisle. Not far from their graves are those of two other statesmen, Henry Grattan, the eloquent Irish orator, and his dear friend, Charles James Fox, "near whom in death it would have been his pride to lie." We saw the monuments of Pitt and Fox upon our first entrance into the nave. Chatham's name will always remind us of the separation of the United States from the Mother Country, while his son, "the great Commoner," is associated with our fight to diminish Napoleon's power, whose downfall Pitt did not live to witness. Between the last columns further south is the statue of Chatham's brilliant legal opponent, Lord Mansfield. Behind him stands another distinguished lawyer from a later generation, Sir William Webb Follett, Attorney-General in Peel's last Ministry. Before turning the corner into the western aisle, it's impossible not to notice the two Admirals, Vernon and Wager, whose memorials unfortunately cover the wall arcading on either side of the north door. Their very names are unknown to the average person today, but they served well on the high seas for England's glory in their own time, the eighteenth century. Vernon enjoys a posthumous fame among sailors because the sailor's drink, a mixture of rum and water first introduced by the Admiral, was called grog in his honor; he was affectionately known as "Old Grog" on board ship, a nickname inspired by his grogram boat-cloak.

In another place, we've already talked at length about the creators of our Empire in both war and peace, whose names can be seen on the walls all around. While the tariff issue is the hot topic right now, and Cobden, the original advocate for free trade, is frequently referenced by our current politicians, we can't forget to look at that statesman's bust, found alongside several other interesting memorials at the back of Chatham's monument. Nearby, the tablet for Warren Hastings documents a chapter in the history of our Indian Empire that’s perhaps best left unexplored, as it is marked by the heartache of a man whose spirit was broken by an endlessly prolonged trial, during which the accused, whether innocent or guilty, was punished far beyond what he deserved. Macaulay's well-known description of Hastings's trial is familiar, and his equally famous essay on Lord Clive is echoed in the monuments of two men, a soldier and a sailor, who worked alongside Clive to establish our Indian Empire. The East India Company is responsible for the unattractive, bizarre monuments that distort the memory of these brave men, Admiral Watson and Sir Eyre Coote, while they also created the no less offensive, albeit smaller, monument commemorating Major Stringer Lawrence, Clive's close friend and esteemed companion, the hero of Trichinopoly, located near the west end of the nave. The Admiral is depicted without much clothing, except for a Roman toga, among palm trees and allegorical figures above the ancient doorway, while his main accomplishments are noted in the inscriptions "Calcutta freed," "Ghereah," and "Chandernagore taken," with the dates 1756 and 1757. Coote drove the French out of the Coromandel coast in 1761, and twenty years later again defeated them alongside their ally, Hyder Ali, in the Carnatic. The General presents himself as a Roman warrior, flanked by a native captive and a figure of Victory on either side. This was, in fact, the style of the time when such absurd groupings were all the rage. We happily turn away from this to the fine bust of Richard Kane on the opposite wall and mention him briefly due to his role as Governor of the Island of Minorca, one of "the lost possessions" of England.

Facing us now, as we head west, is the seated figure of Sir Fowell Buxton, and a bit further to the left is Joseph's striking yet unpleasant statue of William Wilberforce. Both men are deeply associated in our minds with the abolition of slavery. Alongside them are Granville Sharp, the pioneer of the anti-slavery movement, and his colleague, Zachary, father of Lord Macaulay. Sharp's plaque is close to Macaulay's bust in the south transept, and we've already seen the elder Macaulay in the Whigs' Corner. Between the philanthropists stands Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of Singapore, who was just as passionate as they were in the fight against slavery. For us Londoners, his name {118} will always be cherished, as we owe the Zoological Gardens to his vision.

We are now standing in the aisle dedicated to the memory of the great English composer, Henry Purcell, often referred to as the "Musicians' Aisle," even though there aren’t many memorials for musicians here. Purcell's modest plaque features the famous epitaph, "Here lies Henry Purcell, Esq., who left this life and has gone to that blessed place, where only his harmony can be surpassed," and hangs on the pillar near Raffles. We passed a modern memorial close to Balfe, a composer known for many popular ballads; meanwhile, on the north wall, you'll find the monuments of Purcell's mentor, Dr. Blow, who first preceded and then followed his young pupil at the Abbey organ, and Dr. Croft, who took over after Blow. Stones in the floor mark the graves of Dr. Samuel Arnold, another Abbey organist, and Sterndale Bennett, who some believe deserves to be ranked alongside Purcell as a composer. A plaque dedicated to Dr. Burney catches our attention, reminding the literature lovers in our group about his daughter, the novelist Fanny Burney, and their connection with Dr. Johnson, whose grave we saw in Poets' Corner. Other memorials, mainly those honoring sailors, can be found on this wall, but we can't stay much longer as our friends are pleading for a break for their tired minds and aching bodies. Just before the iron gate, we notice the portrait medallion of Charles Darwin, which is accompanied by plaques for three other modern scientists: Joule, Adams, and Stokes. Moments later, we step on the graves of Darwin and Herschel, all intentionally placed near Sir Isaac Newton. You'll also find doctors of medicine alongside scientists in the nave. We've already mentioned the fashionable Dr. Mead, and his equally popular friend, Dr. Freind, is also here. Freind's brother was headmaster of Westminster School, and many of the Latin inscriptions on contemporary monuments were penned by him, including the one beneath his brother's bust; in fact, so many that Pope, who was always busy writing grand praises for his friends like Kneller and Craggs, mockingly wrote the following lines:—

Friend, I'm saddened by your epitaphs
Where so much is still said,
Half of it will never be believed,
The other half will never be read.

The sarcastic prophecy has come true, as these Latin epitaphs are definitely never read, {120} while Pope's verses, usually in English, have a better chance of being noticed. Close to us on the right wall is the bust of a great modern geologist, Sir Charles Lyell, which is located above the monument of his notable predecessor, Woodward, who is often referred to as the founder of English geology. Across from this is Dean Buckland's bust, who served as President of the Geological Society twice and was a prominent authority in that field. The windows along the north side honor famous civil engineers like Stephenson, Locke, Brunel, and Trevithick. To the brilliance of these individuals and to James Watt, whose statue we saw in St. Paul's Chapel, we owe the incredible railway and steamship systems we have today. Indeed, few of the arts, crafts, and sciences from the last two centuries lack some representation in the Abbey. So, as we head to the west cloister door on our way out, we walk over the graves of the father of English watchmakers, Thomas Tompion, and his talented apprentice, George Graham; nearby rests Telford, the builder of the Menai Bridge; close by is Robert Stephenson, the designer of the tubular bridge across the Menai Straits, who was buried next to Telford, twenty-five years later, at his own request.

We've finished our tour of the inside of the church, but to complete the outside, we need to visit the remaining monastic buildings on our way out. A narrow doorway across from Telford's grave leads directly into the cloisters, which were the heart of the monastery. This is where the daily life of the Benedictine brotherhood took place: in the west walk, the monks held a school for novices and local boys, providing the only education available in England before grammar schools were established. The adjacent north walk served as a library in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, separated by screens at both ends. The Prior's seat was located here, surrounded by bookcases filled with parchment rolls and illuminated missals, which later included printed books after Caxton's time. The Consuetudines of Abbot Ware, the Litlington Missal, the Liber Regalis, and the Islip Roll still exist, but most of the valuable manuscripts that the Westminster monks carefully illuminated and copied in this library—each scribe in his own alcove—were destroyed or carelessly lost after the Dissolution when the monks were dispersed and printed books quickly replaced handwritten folios. In the eastern walk, the Abbot held court on special days to hear complaints and address grievances. This is also where he performed the Maundy on the Thursday before Good Friday, washing the feet of beggars. To the west, in the southern part that completes the square and functioned as a passageway, is the entrance to the great refectory where the brothers dined. Nothing remains of the hall except for the old wall, but outside the door are remnants of the niches used for towels; the lavatory itself was around the corner in the west cloister. The cloisters and the surrounding monastic buildings were constructed at different times, mainly through the generosity and efforts of the Abbots. The Norman monastery remained intact long after Henry III's reign, but the new cloister, begun by Abbot Byrcheston, was gradually built as the church developed, with the north end of the eastern arm essentially becoming part of the south transept. Both the east and north walks were completed in the same Early English style under Edward I, but the other two weren't started until Langham's abbacy in the fourteenth century, and the cloister wasn’t fully finished until the fifteenth century. The monks owed the completion of this vital part of their monastery to Langham's generous bequest and Litlington's architectural talent. As we walk around the cloisters, keep in mind that various restorations and remodelings of the window tracery have often erased signs of the earlier style, and the older sections are now in such a decayed state that a new restoration will need to happen soon. {122} {123}

From Dean's Yard, we have the best view of the south transept and the buildings surrounding it. We can see the Chapter House behind the roof of the old dormitory, now the Chapter library and the great school, while at the back of the old houses to the left are the roofs that cover the cloisters. To the right is the small arch that leads into Little Dean's Yard, and the foreground is filled with the green space where the Westminster boys can play football between school in winter. The elm trees, which are quite old, are interesting because their predecessors were planted by Feckenham, the last Abbot of Westminster, and gave the name "the Elms" to the entire square, now known as Dean's Yard.

From the west door, we walk down the north path, stopping to look at a modern plaque that remembers the Boer War. It honors seven members of the Queen's Westminster Volunteers who died in South Africa, fighting alongside their civic comrades, the C.I.V.’s. Some round holes in the stone bench below are said to be marks from an old English game called “nine men’s morris,” which was popular in medieval times; if that’s true, we can only imagine that even the more studious members in the library had their fun moments, or that the novices were allowed to play here. The member of our group who loves quirky epitaphs is sure to stop a little further on to read an almost illegible rhyming inscription that tells how faithfully William Lawrence served a Prebendary, “gaining this remembrance at his master's cost.” We are now walking on the graves of Garrick’s contemporaries—Spranger Barry, his wife Ann Crawford, and Mrs. Cibber. As we turn onto the east walk, we see the names of two other stars of the eighteenth-century stage, Betterton and Mrs. Bracegirdle, cut into the pavement; the simple memorial nearby to “Jane Lister, dear child,” is sure to attract those who love children. Before moving on, let’s look up at the east cloister door with its delicate thirteenth-century molding, which is much more beautiful than the later Perpendicular work from Abbot Litlington’s time above the west door. Lower down, a grand portal with a double doorway, dating back to the same earlier period, leads through a dark vestibule into the stunning specimen of Early English architecture, the Chapter House. In one of the outer arches, there are fragments of figures and foliage representing a tree of Jesse, and in the tympanum above, we see two decaying but still beautiful stone angels. The center was once filled with a group of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Savior, but no trace remains now. The Chapter House, built at the same time as Henry the Third’s church, is considered one of the finest in England, but it has suffered significant damage over the years from careless caretakers and well-intentioned restorers. Originally, it was designed for the use of the convent, but ever since the dissolution of the monastery, it has been under government control and never under the authority of the Dean and Chapter. Here, monks used to gather weekly under the Abbot’s presidency to discuss their affairs, and strict justice was meted out to any elder brethren who broke the rules of the Order. They were flogged near the central pillar, watched by the other monks sitting on the stone benches against the wall; younger offenders were punished in the cloisters. However, early in the reign of the first Edward, the kings started using this council chamber of the monastery for their own purposes, often holding clergy synods here, usually to extort subsidies. Around the middle of the fourteenth century, the Abbot lent the Chapter House to the Crown for the use of the Commons, who met there until Edward VI’s edict moved them to the old chapel of St. Stephen’s. Abbot Henley, wise to the situation, required that the government cover all future repair costs. We don’t know if this agreement was honored at first, but after the Dissolution, when the building finally became the Crown’s, it fell into terrible disrepair and was used as a kind of storage room for State documents. In the eighteenth century, it was converted into a record office, and the architecture was severely mistreated. The original roof, which was already in ruins, was completely removed; wooden shelves, galleries, and staircases obscured the painted walls; a boarded floor was added halfway up, and dusty, flammable parchment rolls raised the ongoing fire risk. In 1834, after the nearby Houses of Parliament burned down, watchers were positioned on the roof of the Chapter House, ready to save the Doomsday Book and other valuable records if the fire spread and threatened this historic building. Sir Gilbert Scott, who was then Surveyor of the Abbey fabric, later deemed the fire risk serious enough that in 1865 he convinced the government to remove the records and secured funding from Parliament to restore the place as much as possible to its original look. Despite the changes from this restoration, Scott did a commendable job, and as we look around, we see remnants of its ancient grandeur, though neglect and misguided repair attempts over the years have caused irreparable damage. For instance, the interesting mural paintings from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries have been slowly fading ever since the wooden paneling was removed forty years ago, and well-meaning modern methods intended to preserve the color seem to have only added to their decline. Above the inner door are two graceful stone figures, one of which is thought to represent St. John the Baptist; the central medallion of Christ is by Sir Gilbert Scott but doesn’t compare well to the thirteenth-century sculptures. The window tracery was restored based on the only one that Scott found intact, but the ancient painted glass had long since vanished, and the present glass, made by Messrs. Clayton and Bell, was installed at the end of the last century as a memorial to Dean Stanley. Part of one window is still unfinished, pending sufficient funding, but the rest have now been filled in. The east window was a generous gift from Queen Victoria in admiration for her old friend, while the cost of the window next to it was entirely covered by American donors. Historical scenes connected with the Abbey are depicted here, with figures of sovereigns and abbots who contributed to the foundation above them. Just now, we passed a small medallion portrait in the vestibule with a modern window above it, both memorials to James Russell Lowell, who was the United States Minister in London for many years. His brilliant speech in this very spot supporting Dean Bradley’s appeal for funds to honor Dean Stanley will always be remembered by those who were present. In the center of the floor, there are remnants of the ancient encaustic tiles that once paved the entire area, and surrounding them are glass cases containing many intriguing documents, seals, and other artifacts that should be explored at leisure by the history buffs in our group. These are already admiring the famous Litlington Missal and the Liber Regalis, an illuminated manuscript containing the order of the Coronation Service prepared for Richard II’s use, which is likely the actual volume the young King held during the long and dull ceremony. There’s also a fine manuscript detailing an agreement between Henry VII and the Bermondsey convent. Others are drawn to the skeletons of rats, mice, and sparrows discovered while cleaning out the old organ pipes. In the vestibule as we exit, we see a curious old doorway, which was originally the entrance to the royal treasury, now known as the Pyx Chapel. On the other side hang strips of human skin that once covered it entirely, like the door that used to separate the chapels of St. Faith and St. Blaise in the south transept. The latter was taken down long ago, but in Scott’s time, the frame, which still had some skin clinging to it, was intact, but was subsequently taken away by the Abbey master mason and has since been completely lost. The ghastly relics on the south transept door were traditionally thought to be the skins of the Danes, but the one here was said to be that of a man flayed alive for robbing the royal treasury during Edward I’s reign, which was hung at the treasury entrance as a warning to implicate the monks in the crime. Sir Gilbert Scott, however, believed the skins were from men executed for sacrilege. Beneath the Chapter House itself lies a crypt, which also served as a treasure depository and was part of King Edward I’s wardrobe. It remains unclear which strong room was broken into by robbers, but that isn’t our concern right now. The door currently leads nowhere; but in the days of the Confessor, when the chamber was built, and for long after, it opened directly into the treasury chamber. Behind it now is only an empty space beneath the library stairs, where, in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, one of the Chapter officials seems to have kept his wine, as the names of different wines and their dates are written on the stones. Beyond the fourteenth-century staircase, which led up to the monks’ dormitory, is a wall, likely from the same period, dividing this section of the treasury from the rest, and one of the Norman columns has been built into the middle of it. In Scott’s time, a modern door led from the vestibule to the Chapter library, but he restored the original staircase with an entrance into the east cloister, which is on our left as we exit. The spacious room above was originally the dormitory, where the monks passed back and forth into the church through this vestibule via a covered passage that crossed the end of St. Faith’s Chapel and descended by stone steps, some of which still exist, into St. Blaise’s chapel in the south transept. After being occasionally used as a library under different Deans, part of this dormitory (the rest is now in the schoolroom) was restored and converted by Dean Vincent in the seventeenth century, and is now the Chapter library. In the cloister beyond the library entrance, a heavy oak door, reinforced with iron bars, leads into the chamber or chapel of the Pyx. Behind this is another equally imposing door, and each has three complicated locks, only two of which are currently in use. There’s little doubt that these locks date back to the seventeenth century and are not the original ones of the Treasury, for which the Keeper of the Royal Wardrobe and the Abbot had duplicate keys; we know this because when Parliament sent Sir Robert Harley to seize the regalia in 1643, no keys were provided by the Dean, prompting the locks to be broken, and new ones installed by the House’s order. The whole matter of the Pyx Chapel is immensely interesting, and much of its history remains a mystery. It’s sufficient to tell our group that the regalia and Crown jewels were stored here for many centuries, and in later times, the pyx—a box containing the standard pieces of gold and silver currency—replaced the ancient treasure. The pyx is currently in the Mint, and quite recently, the treasury chamber, which is now managed by the Board of Works, was cleared out after centuries of neglect, with most old chests temporarily removed. Now that the chapel is empty, it’s easier to appreciate the fine proportions of its architecture. This vaulted room and a few other structures beyond it, including the dark cloister, belong to the Norman monastery and were constructed during and after the Confessor’s era. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, most of the old monastic buildings were gradually demolished to make way for more spacious and convenient new structures, but these remained unscathed when the rest were destroyed. The Pyx Chamber seems to have been a chapel at one point, as there are remnants of an altar and a thirteenth-century holy-water basin at the east end, just like in the Chapter House crypt, but both functioned as royal treasuries, and regalia was stored in the former until the Commonwealth. After the Restoration, the new regalia was kept in the Tower, and since then, it has been brought to the Abbey the night before coronation. The Romanesque round arches and plain short columns with fluted moldings date back to the eleventh century, while the floor consists of ancient tiles from various eras, some of which have been identified as Roman. Two large, sturdy chests are labeled with the names of different countries, like Scotland, Burgundy, and Navarre, suggesting they may have contained treaties and possibly tribute money. We cannot visit either the Library or the Pyx Chapel today, nor the small vaulted chamber leading to the school gymnasium, but we must take a moment to see the only remaining section of the original Norman cloister, a dark round arch, through which we pass into a modernized courtyard called the Little Cloister. The monks' infirmary, an Early English building, used to be here, and a few arches from the infirmary chapel, dedicated to St. Catherine, can still be seen behind one of the Canon's houses; a small locked door in the other corner leads to the "College Garden," where the sick brethren used to come to get fresh air. We pause to look at a plaque on the wall near the choir boys' practice room, a favorite of all our groups, because of the quirky phrase about the man who, “through the spotted veil of smallpox, rendered a pure and unspotted soul to God.” Returning through the dark arch, we glance into Little Dean’s Yard, where the school buildings are located, but Westminster School is too large a topic to address after a long morning, so we simply point out the gateway leading to the main schoolroom, where the names of many esteemed former Westminsters are carved, and suggest our friends visit Ashburnham House to see Inigo Jones’s famous staircase on another occasion. The south walk is the direct route to Dean’s Yard. The wall alongside was probably part of the Norman cloister, used by Litlington for the new one; behind it sat the great refectory we mentioned earlier. The late Decorated and early Perpendicular styles are so closely linked that it’s impossible to pinpoint the exact date of this section of the monastery, but generally speaking, we can attribute the rest of the buildings we’re about to see to the efforts of Abbot Litlington, although some were completed after his death. The graves of the early Abbots against this wall likely started inside the Norman church; in any event, they have definitely been relocated here. The names we see now were carved in the eighteenth century and are so oddly arranged that hardly one tomb bears the correct inscription. A large blue stone known as Long Meg was long thought to cover the remains of twenty-eight monks who succumbed to the plague, but like many Abbey legends, this seems unlikely when we recall the active monastic life in these cloisters and the fact that the cemetery was situated outside the Lady Chapel. Our current aim is the famous Jerusalem Chamber, where the Abbots would entertain their guests. To reach it, we pass beneath another archway after leaving the cloisters and enter a charming courtyard; on one side stands the College Hall, which was once the Abbot’s dining room and served the same purpose for the earlier Deans; on the other three sides of the courtyard are the Abbot’s lodgings, now the Deanery. The Hall was constructed by Litlington at the same time as the Chamber, and although it was remodeled during the Elizabethan period, when the roof was restored and the minstrels’ gallery added, much of the fourteenth-century work remains. The Abbot’s initials, N. L., along with his arms, can be seen on sections of painted glass and on the bosses of the roof, while the primitive fireplace in the center of the floor, complete with a hole above for smoke to escape, was in use until the middle of last century. On the dais, raised two steps above the rest of the Hall, the Abbot, and later his successor the Dean, took his place of honor; the ancient oak tables are said to be made from the wreckage of the Spanish Armada and undoubtedly date from Elizabeth’s reign, when the recently founded Queen's scholars dined with the Dean and Prebendaries. A small door in the corner leads us, via a passageway, into the Jerusalem Chamber, but we search in vain for remnants of our friend Litlington, as the room has been so modernized and restored that practically only the cedar wood and architectural details are from his era. More fragments of ancient glass from the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries remind us that not only these but also the church windows once featured painted glass, most of which was destroyed by early Protestants, with all remaining pieces smashed by Puritans. The tapestry was moved here from the choir and the great school in 1821 when the Chamber was restored. The tiles and fireplace were added during Queen Victoria’s reign, while the overmantel was erected by Dean Williams to commemorate the marriage of Charles I to Henrietta Maria—on either side are grotesque heads of the bride and groom; Williams hosted the French Ambassador for a banquet in this room during their negotiations. Dean Stanley placed the busts of Henry IV and Henry V against the wall, ensuring that all who enter this historic chamber are reminded that a king died right here before the hearth where we now stand. Shakespeare has made the scene of Henry the Fourth’s death familiar, and we recall the King’s words when he regained consciousness after fainting. Henry collapsed while praying at St. Edward’s shrine before departing for the Holy Land; when he asked for the name of the room into which he was carried from the church, upon hearing it was “Hierusalem,” he broke into gratitude:—

Praise be to God! even there my life must end.
It has been prophesied to me for many years
That I would only die in Jerusalem;
Which I foolishly thought was the Holy Land.
But take me to that room; that's where I'll lie;
In that Jerusalem, Harry will die.

This small paved yard has had its current name since the time of the Westminster abbots, as the buildings surrounding it were part of the Abbot's lodgings. For example, here is the great hall where the Abbot used to have dinner, and where the Westminster scholars still eat their meals. We can’t see this in the picture, but directly in front of us is the entrance to the Jerusalem Chamber and Jericho parlour, the Abbot’s guest rooms. The old bedrooms above were also part of the Abbot’s house and are now used by the Dean. All of this, including the Jericho parlour, the windows of which we can see below, was likely built during the reign of King Henry VII by Abbot Islip. The Jerusalem Chamber dates back to an earlier period, the fourteenth century.

The Abbot's withdrawing room has been used for many different purposes since the monastery was dissolved. More than one coffin has been here before burial; the most notable was Sir Isaac Newton's, when the room was filled with distinguished men from all over Europe. The least reputable occasion was when the decorated body of a notorious actress, praised by Horace Walpole and mocked by Alexander Pope, was brought into these monastic grounds and later buried inside the church itself. Wedding parties and funeral gatherings still gather in this room from time to time, and the Dean occasionally lends the Chamber for special meetings. This is where the revisers of the Old Testament completed their difficult task, a job that took several years, seated around this table. Long before that, in the seventeenth century, a very different group met here when the Westminster Assembly, driven out of Henry VII's Chapel by the freezing cold, moved into the warmer environment of the Dean's house and held many heated debates in this tranquil old-world setting.

From Jerusalem, we move into the Jericho room; this space, along with the bedrooms above, was built in the sixteenth century, likely by Abbot Islip, who, like Litlington, was a notable builder. The beautiful linen scroll paneling around the walls comes from an earlier time, and there are still remnants of ancient glass in the window. A door connects the Deanery to the lobby outside, and at the end of a dark hallway is the Dean's private entrance to the Abbey, which leads into the nave under the "Abbot's Pew." We’ve mentioned a few times the Commonwealth period when Presbyterian ministers preached in the church, and the Deanery was briefly rented out to the Lord President of the Council, John Bradshaw. Even now, over two hundred years later, we can almost see the striking figure of the regicide, his stern face hidden by his favorite broad-brimmed hat, striding through the darkness to the small door in the wall, from where he would ascend to his quiet study in the triforium, where he enjoyed reflecting among his books. But enough of these intriguing memories. Our own journey is coming to an end; we retrace our steps through the Abbot's courtyard and step out of the cloisters' dimness into the sunlight of Dean's Yard, pausing for a moment before we part to gaze up at the window of the "long room," which, along with his private chapel behind it, was built by our friend Litlington. On each side of the gateway below, you can see the heads of the Abbot himself and his king, Richard II. Part of the old refectory wall is hidden behind bookcases in the Abbot's long room, and there are other remnants of monastic life in the Deanery, which is a sprawling old house, expanded by successive Deans, featuring many picturesque nooks and hidden chambers. Let’s say our goodbyes standing beneath the old elm trees, some of which were planted during Elizabeth's reign by Feckenham, the last Abbot, and here we’ll conclude our morning walk around the church and grounds of St. Peter’s, Westminster.

Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Abbot's courtyard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
long room, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
Pew, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Abbots' Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
tombs, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Abbotsford, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Abraham, high points, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Adams, J. C., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Addison, Joseph, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Afghanistan, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Battle of Agincourt, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Albemarle, William de Fortibus, Earl of, 59

Alfonzo, Prince, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Almenara, battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Altar, Jesus, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
high, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Ambulatory, north, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
south, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

André, Major, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Andrew St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Andrews, St., Archbishop of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Angelo, Michael, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Anne, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
serious, and wax figure, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Anne of Bohemia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Anne of Cleves, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Anne of Denmark, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Anne, St., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Anne's Gate, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Argyll, Duchess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Spanish Armada, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Arnold, Matthew, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Arnold, Dr. Samuel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Arnold, Dr. Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Ashburnham House, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Atterbury, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Aveline, Countess of Lancaster, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bacon, John, artist, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Balfe, Michael, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Baptismal font, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Battle of Barnet, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Barton Street, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Barry, Sir Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Barry, Mrs., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Barry, Spranger, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bath, Knights of the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Beaufort family, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Becket, Archbishop Thomas à, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Belfry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Benedict, St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Benedictines, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Bennett, Sir W. Sterndale, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Benson, auditor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Beranger, Raymond de, Count of Provence, 41

Bermondsey convent, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Betterton, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bill, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Blackfriars, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Blaise, St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Blake, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Blanche of the Tower, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Blenheim, Battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Blore, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Blow, Dr., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Boehm, sculptor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Boer War, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bohemia, coat of arms, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
King of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Bohun, de family, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Booth, Barton, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bosworth, Battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bourchier, Sir Humphrey, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mrs. Bracegirdle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bradley, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Bradshaw, John, king killer, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Bray, Sir Reginald, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Brazilian Navy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Brigham, Nicholas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Bringfield, Colonel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Brocas, Sir Bernard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Brock, artist, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Browning, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Brunel, Isambard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Buckingham, Countess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Duke and Duchess of Buckingham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Buckland, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Burgundy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Burleigh, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dr. Burney, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Burney, Fanny, Madame d'Arblay, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Burns, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Busby, Dr., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Buxton, Sir T. Fowell, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Byrcheston, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cabul, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Calais, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Kolkata, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Campbell, Sir Colin, Lord Clyde, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Campbell, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Canning, Earl, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Canning, George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Canning, Stratford, Lord de Redcliffe, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Canterbury, Archbishop of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Cathedral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Carnatic, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Caroline, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Isaac Casaubon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Castlereagh, Viscount, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Catherine of Braganza, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Catherine, Princess, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Catherine Street, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Cavendish, William, first Duke of Newcastle, 112

Caxton, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cecil, Anne, Countess of Oxford, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cecil, Mildred, Lady Burleigh, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cecil, Sir Robert, Earl of Salisbury, 67

Cecil, Robert, Marquess of Salisbury, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Cecil, William, Lord Burleigh, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Chamberlain, Dr., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Chandernagore, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Chapter House, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
crypt, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
library, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__

Charing Cross, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Charles I, King, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Charles II, King, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__

Charles IV, Emperor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Chaucer, Geoffrey, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Chilean Navy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Choir, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
boys, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
north aisle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
south aisle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
screen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Cibber, Mrs., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Claypole, Elizabeth, Lady, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Clayton and Bell, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Clive, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cloisters, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__
Little, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__

Cobden, Richard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cochrane, Thomas, Earl of Dundonald, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Coleridge, S. T., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

College Garden, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Hall, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Colt, Maximilian, artist, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

House of Commons, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Commonwealth, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Congreve, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Coote, Sir Eyre, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Coromandel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Coronation, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
chairs, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
service, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Coverley, Sir Roger de, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cowley, Abraham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cowley Street, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cowper, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Craggs, James, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Crawford, Ann, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Crecy, Battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Creed, Major, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Crimean War, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dr. Croft, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cromwell, Oliver, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Crull, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Crusaders, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Crusades, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Danes, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Darnley, Henry Stuart, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Darwin, Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Daubeney, Sir Giles and Lady, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
and Chapter, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__

Dean's Yard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
Little, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Deanery, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Delavel family, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Derby, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dickens, Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Disraeli, Benjamin, Earl of Beaconsfield, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dolben, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Doomsday Book, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dorset, Anne, Countess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dryden, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Dunk, G. Montagu, Earl of Halifax, 102

Editha, Lady, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Edmund Crouchback, Earl of Lancaster, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Edmund St. Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Edward, St., the Confessor, 3, 4, 5, 9, 12, 25, 69, 130, 132
altar of, 70, 71
arms of, 41
chapel of, 68-83
shrine of, 5, 27, 57, 64, 70, 71, 74, 84, 102, 137

Edward I., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__

Edward II., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Edward III., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Edward IV, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Edward V., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Edward VI, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Edward, the Black Prince, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Edwardes, Sir Herbert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Eleanor of Aquitaine, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Eleanor de Bohun, Duchess of Gloucester, 66, 81

Eleanor of Castile, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Elizabeth, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__
wax figure, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__

Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Elizabeth Woodville, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Elizabeth of York, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Erasmus, St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Essex, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Esteney, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Evesham, Battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Fairborne, Sir Palmes, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Faith St. Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Feckenham, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Flanders, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Follett, Sir W., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Font, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Fox, Charles James, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

France, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Franklin, Sir John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Friend, Dr. John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Friend, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Froissart, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Front, north, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
west, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Garrick, David and Mrs., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Gay, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

George I, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

George II, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

George III, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

George, Royal, shipwreck of the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Gethin, Lady Grace, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Ghereah, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Gifford, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Gladstone, W. E., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Godwin, Earl, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Goldschmidt, Jenny Lind, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Goldsmith, Oliver, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Goodman, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Gordon, Charles, Gen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Gower, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wow, George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Graham, George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Grattan, Henry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Gray, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Grey Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, tomb of. See illustration

Grote, George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hainault, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Battle of Halidon Hill, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Halifax, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Earls of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Handel, G. F., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hanoverian family, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Harbord and Cottrell monument, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Harold, King, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hastings, Warren, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hatfield, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Havelock, General, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hawkesmore, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Henley, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Henrietta Maria, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Henry I, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Henry II, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Henry III., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_13__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_14__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_15__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_16__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_17__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_18__

Henry IV, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Henry V., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__
Chantry Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__

Henry VI, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Henry VII., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__
Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_13__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_14__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_15__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_16__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_17__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_18__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_19__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_20__

Henry VIII., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__

Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Henry, Duke of Gloucester, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Herschel, Sir John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Hertford, Frances, Countess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hill, Mrs. Jane, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Holland, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Holles, John, third Duke of Newcastle, 112

Holy Land, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Hope, Adrian, brigadier, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Horneck, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Horrocks, Benjamin, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Howard, Lord of Effingham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hyde, Edward, Earl of Clarendon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Hyder Ali, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

East India Company, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Monk's infirmary, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Inigo Jones, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Ireland, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Ireton, Henry, General, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Islip, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Islip Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Islip Roll, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Italy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

James I., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

James II., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

James, Duke of York, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Jericho lounge, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Jerusalem Chamber, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

John of Gaunt, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

John, Prince of Eltham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
tomb canopy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

John the Baptist, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

John, St. John the Evangelist, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

John Lateran, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Jonson, Ben, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Joseph, sculptor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Joule, James Prescott, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Kane, Richard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Katherine of Valois, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dr. Keate, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Keats, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Keble, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Kemble, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Kempenfelt, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

King's College Chapel, Cambridge, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

King's Langley, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

King Street, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Kingsley, Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Kirton, Ann, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Kneller, Sir Godfrey, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Lady Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Lamb, Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Lambeth, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lancaster, Earls of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
family emblem, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Langham, Archbishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Laurence, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lawrence, John, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Lawrence, Sir Henry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lawrence, Major Stringer, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lawrence, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lennox, Dukes and Duchesses of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lennox, Earl and Countess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Liber Regalis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Limoges, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lincoln, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lister, Jane, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Litlington, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__

Litlington Missal, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Livingstone, David, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Locke, Joseph, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Longfellow, H. W., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Louis, St., King of France, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lovell, Sir Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Lowell, J.R., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lucas, Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Lucknow, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Lyell, Sir Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Lytton, Edward Bulwer, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Macaulay, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Macaulay, Zachary, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Makonnen, Ras, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mansfield, William Murray, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, 89, 93, 94, 100

Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Margaret St. Church, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Marlborough, Duke of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Mary, Princess of Orange, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mary, Princess, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mary Tudor, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Mary II, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Mary, Queen of Scots, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Mason, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Matilda, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Maundy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Maurice, F. D., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dr. Mead, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Meg, Long, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Menai Bridge, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Michael, St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Milton, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Minorca, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mint, the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Monastery, Westminster, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__
Dissolution of the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__

Monck, General, Duke of Albemarle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Montagu, Charles, first Earl of Halifax, 102

Montagu, Edward, Admiral, Earl of Sandwich, 102

Montague, Captain, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Montfort, Simon de, Earl of Leicester, 59

Moors, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Muniment Room, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Musicians' Alley, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Mutiny, Indian, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Napoleon, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Navarre, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Nave, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__

Nelson, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
wax statue, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Neville family, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Newcastle tombs, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Newcastle, bridge, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Newton, Sir Isaac, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Nicholas, St., Chapel of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Nightingale, Lady Elizabeth, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Norman church and cloister, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Norris family grave, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Northumberland, Duchess of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Nova Scotia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Odericus, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Oldfield, Ann, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Orchard, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Organ display, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

pipes, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Old, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Outram, Sir James, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pall Mall, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Palmerston, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Paoli, Pasquale de, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Parliament, Houses of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

St. Paul's Chapel, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Paul's Cathedral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Peabody, George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pearce, Dean Zachary, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pearson, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Peel, Sir Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Peninsular War, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Peter, Saint, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Peter, the Roman, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Peter's College, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Philippa, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
tomb of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Pitt, William, Earl of Chatham, monument, 114, 115
wax figure, 108

Pitt, William, the younger, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Plantagenets, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Poets' Corner, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Battle of Poitiers, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pollock, Sir George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pope, Alexander, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Presbyterians, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Prior, the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Pritchard, Hannah, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Protestants, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Puckering, Sir John and Lady, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pulteney, William, Earl of Bath, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Punjab, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Purcell, Henry, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Puritans, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Pym, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Chapel of the Pyx, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Quebec, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Raffles, Sir Stamford, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Battle of Ramillies, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Cafeteria, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Regalia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Reredos, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Restoration, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Richard II, King, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_11__
image of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_12__
grave of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_13__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_14__

Richard III, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Richard, King of the Romans, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Richard, Duke of York, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Richmond, Duke of, and Lennox, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Robsert, Ludovick, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Roet, Sir Payne, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Rood screen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Roubiliac, sculptor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Rupert, Prince, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Ruskin, John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Ruthall, John, Bishop of Durham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Rysbrack, sculptor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Sanctuary, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Earl of Sandwich, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Saunders, Sir Clement, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Scilly Islands, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Scone, stone of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Scotland, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Scott, Sir Gilbert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__

Scott, Sir Walter, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Sebert, King, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Shaftesbury, Earl of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Shakespeare, William, monument of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
plays of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__

Sharp, Granville, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Sheffield, John, Duke of Buckinghamshire, and Duchess, 97, 102

Sheridan, R. B., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Shovel, Sir Cloudesley, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Shrewsbury, Battle of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Siddons, Mrs., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Singapore, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Somerset, Duke of, the Protector, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Somerset, Duchess __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Sophia, Princess, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

South, Dr. R., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Southey, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Spain, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Spenser, Edmund, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Spottiswoode, Archbishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stamford, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stanhope, Earls, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stanley, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__

Stanley, Lady Augusta, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Statesmen's Aisle, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Staunton, Sir George, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stephenson, Robert, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stokes, Sir William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Strode, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stuart, Arabella, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stuart, Charles, Earl of Lennox, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Stuart, Frances, Duchess of Richmond and Lennox, 96

Stuarts, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Sussex County, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tait, Archbishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tangier, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Telford, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
grave of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Old Testament revisers, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thackeray, W. M., __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thirlwall, Bishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thomas of Lewes, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, 81

Thorneye, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Thynne, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Thynne, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tickell, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tompion, Thomas, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Torel, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Torrigiano, Pietro, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Tory, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Tostig, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tothill Street, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tower, the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Towers, West, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Transept, north, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
south, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__

Treasury, Royal, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Trench, Archbishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Trevithick, Richard, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Trichy, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Triforium, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Tudor, Owen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Tudors, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__

Turks, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Tyburn, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Valence, Aymer de, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Valence, William de, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Vere, Sir Francis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Vernon, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Victoria, Queen, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Villiers, Francis, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Villiers, George, first Duke of Buckingham, 97

Catherine, Duchess of Villiers, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Villiers, George, second Duke of Buckingham, 97

Vincent, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Voltaire, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wager, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Waldeby, Archbishop, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Walpole, Horace, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Lady, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Walter, Master of Durham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

John of Waltham, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Walton, Izaak, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wardrobe, Royal, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Ware, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Washington, General, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Watson, Admiral, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Watt, James, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Watts, Dr. Isaac, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wax figures, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Wenceslaus, King of Bohemia, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wenlock, Abbot, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wesley, John, and Charles, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Westmacott, sculptor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Westminster, the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Westminster Abbey, passim
Assembly, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
Duke of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__
Hall, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__
School, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_6__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_7__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_8__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_9__
Volunteers, Queen's, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_10__

Whigs' Corner, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Whitehall, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Wilberforce, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wilcocks, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

William the Conqueror, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

William III, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

William of Windsor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Williams, Dean, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Window, north, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
south, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__
west, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_4__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_5__

Windows, Chapter House, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Windsor, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

Windsor, Sir John, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wolfe, General, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wolseley, General, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wolsey, Cardinal, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Dr. John Woodward, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Woolner, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Wordsworth, William, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Works, Clerk of the, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__
Board of, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_3__

Wren, Sir Christopher, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__

Wyatt, James, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__

York family crest, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Young, Sir Jack, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__

Zoo, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__