erchants walked up
and down, conversing, heedless of the noise, to which their ears were
so accustomed as to be deaf to them. The merchants had reason to be
grave. Always there were wars and rumours of wars; always some pirate
from French shores was attacking their ships; their latest venture was
too often overdue--the ship had to run the gauntlet of the Algerian
galleys, and no one could tell what might have happened; there was
plague at Antwerp--it might be lurking in the bales lying on the quay
before them; there was civil war brewing; fortune is fickle--he who
was rich yesterday may be a beggar to-morrow. Merchants, in those
days, did well to be grave.

I have considered, so far, some of the great houses standing in or
along this historic street. Let us now note a few of the churches.

All Hallows, Barking, the first walking from the east, commemorates in
its name the fact that it formerly belonged to the great convent of
Barking in Essex, the gateway of which still stands at the entrance to
the churchyard. This church escaped the Fire. Here was buried the poet
Surrey, Bishop Fisher, and Archbishop Laud.

In the church of St. Magnus, London Bridge, the remains of Miles
Coverdale, the translator of the Bible, rest: they were removed here
from the Church of St. Bartholomew when it was pulled down to make
more room for the Bank of England. This church has perhaps the finest
tower, lantern, and steeple of all the City churches, in front is a
small court planted with trees, whose foliage is strangely refreshing
in early summer down in this dark place almost below the approach to
the bridge. The church itself is fine but not very interesting. I have
sometimes counted as many as ten present at the Sunday morning
service.

St. Michael's, Tower Royal, is Whittington's church. In this parish he
lived, though a house was long shown as his in Hart Street; here he
died; in this church he was buried--behind this church stood his
College of the Holy Spirit with its bedesmen and its ecclesiastical
staff. If we pass the church and look in at the gateway on the north,
we shall notice unmistakable signs of an ancient collegiate foundation
in the disposition of the modern houses. Here is now the Mercers'
School. In the church there is no adequate monument to the memory of
London's greatest merchant--the man who did so much for the City which
made him so rich, who royally entertained the King and Queen in his
own house, and at the