heir way from the west door to the chapel. Just as the
procession had passed St. Edmund's Chapel, the whole of the
screen, including the canopy of John of Eltham's tomb, came
down with a crash, which brought with it the men and boys
who had clambered to the top of it to see the spectacle,
and severely wounded many of those below. The uproar and
confusion put a stop to the ceremony for two hours. The body
was left in the ruined Chapel, and the Dean did not return
till after midnight, when the funeral was completed, but
still amidst cries of murder, raised by such of the
sufferers as had not been removed.[22]

The broken canopy was never restored. The Dean of that day seems to have
thought it not worth while to take the trouble of mending it; and by his
order it was swept away. The fragments, it is said, found their way to
Strawberry Hill, Walpole's famous villa, where, at some time in the end
of the last century, they were put up for sale, having been used as a
chimney piece. Their subsequent fate I have not been able to ascertain.

It is difficult to believe that such an act of vandalism took place
little more than a hundred years ago. The Deans of Westminster now are a
very different race to the one who swept away John of Eltham's beautiful
canopy. With the beginning of this century a spirit of love and
veneration for Westminster Abbey seemed to revive. Dean Vincent
appealed to Parliament and persuaded the nation to repair Henry the
Seventh's chapel which was falling into decay. Under Dean Ireland free
admission was given to the greater part of the Abbey. And Dean Buckland,
the well-known geologist, carried on the good work by taking down some
hideous screens which shut off the transepts from the choir. He was
succeeded by Dean Trench, the present learned Archbishop of Dublin, who
inaugurated the special services on Sunday evening in the nave--a grand
movement in the right direction. And all this time public interest was
growing more and more keen about the Abbey. New discoveries were being
made by architects and antiquarians each year. But it was not until Dean
Stanley succeeded the Archbishop of Dublin that the Abbey came quite to
life. No one who has ever accompanied the late Dean in those memorable
excursions which he delighted to make over the building can forget the
enthusiasm with which his vivid descriptions inspired his listeners.
Whether he was talking to the Emperor o