s
of statesmen, of naval and military heroes, on every side. Huge
monstrosities of monuments surround us and grow in bulk as we pass up
the musicians' aisle and reach the north transept, called the
Statesmen's Corner. If we pause and glance around, striving to forget
the outer shell, and to think only of the noble men commemorated, we
shall remember much to make us proud of England's heroes and worthies.
Above the west door stands young William Pitt pointing with outstretched
arm towards the north transept, where we shall find his venerable
father, Lord Chatham. Almost beneath his feet is the philanthropist Lord
Shaftesbury, and near to him is a white slave kneeling before the statue
of Charles James Fox, whose huge monument hides the humbler tablet to
another zealous opponent of the slave trade, Zachary Macaulay. We must
pause here an instant to gaze upon the bronze medallion head of General
Gordon, the martyr of the Soudan, an enthusiast also in the suppression
of slavery; and as we walk up the nave we must look for the slab of
Livingstone, whose remains were brought to their final resting-place
over deserts and trackless wildernesses by his faithful black servants.

On the right, in Little Poets' Corner, is to be found the chief of the
Lake poets, William Wordsworth. Here also is Dr. Arnold, the noted
Headmaster of Rugby, his son Matthew, poet and critic, and beside them
Keble, Kingsley and Maurice.

The makers of our Indian Empire are about us now. Outram, the "Bayard of
India," lies between Lord Lawrence and Lord Clyde; while in the north
transept are earlier pioneers, the faithful naval, military, and civil
servants of the great East India Company. On each side of the screen are
two ponderous monuments which cannot escape the notice of the most
casual sightseer; these commemorate Lord Stanhope, a General whose early
reputation ranked next to that of Marlborough in Spain, and the immortal
philosopher, Sir Isaac Newton. Purcell, chief among English musicians,
claims our notice in the choir aisle, and we pass on surrounded by other
musicians, by sailors and soldiers, until we stand in the very midst of
the statesmen. It may be we have come to the Abbey in the spring, when
we shall see the statue of Lord Beaconsfield literally covered with
primroses. The Cannings, Sir Robert Peel in his Roman toga, Lord
Palmerston, and many other statesmen, are here, and our feet tread on
the grave of Gladstone as we pass towards the