d wore a
splendid chain; or he may have been the poorest and most miserable
wretch of his time. It matters not; he has escaped the dust--he is a
mummy. Somehow he contrives to look superior, as if he was conscious
of the fact and proud of it; he cannot smile, or nod, or wink, but he
can look superior.

One more church and one more scene, and I have done.

There is a church on the south side of Thames Street, close to the
site of the Steelyard--_i.e._, almost under the railway arches which
lead to Cannon Street. It is not very much to look at. With one
exception, indeed, it is the ugliest church in the whole of London
City. It is a big oblong box, with round windows stuck in here and
there. Wren designed it, I believe, one evening after dinner, when he
had taken a glass or two more than his customary allowance of port or
mountain. It is the church of All Hallows the Great combined with All
Hallows the Less. Before the Fire it was a very beautiful church, with
a cloister running round its churchyard on the south, and to the east
looking out upon the lane that led to Cold Harbour House. This is the
church to which the Hanseatic merchants for three hundred years came
for worship. Very near the church, on the river bank, stood the
Waterman's Hall. To this church, therefore, came the 'prentices of the
watermen every Sunday. The Great Fire carried it away, with Steelyard,
cloister, church, Waterman's Hall, Cold Harbour House, and everything.
Then Wren, as I said, took a pencil and ruler one evening, and showed
how a square box could be constructed on the site. Now, let no man
judge by externals. If you can get into the church, you will be
rewarded by the sight of an eighteenth-century church left exactly as
it was in those days of grave and sober merchants, and of City
ceremonies and church services attended in state. On the north side,
against the middle of the wall, is planted what we now most
irreverently call a Three Decker. But we must not laugh, because of
all Three Deckers this is the most splendid. There is nothing in the
City more beautiful than the wood-carving which makes pulpit,
sounding-board, reading-desk, and clerk's desk in this church precious
and wonderful. The old pews, which, I rejoice to say, have never been
removed, are many of them richly and beautifully carved. The Pew of
State, reserved for the Lord Mayor and the Sheriffs, is a miracle of
art. Across the very middle of the church is a screen in carve