Adjoining Crosby Hall is a very interesting church—St. Helen’s, which has been called the “Westminster Abbey of the City,” because of famous citizens of “the City,” who are buried there. Among them is Sir Thomas Gresham, the great merchant of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, who founded the Royal Exchange, and did much to increase London’s trade. The church—dating mostly from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century—is very quaint and old. It consists of two parallel naves, divided by pillars.
“The church was once connected with an ancient nunnery which covered the whole square outside. The naves were originally quite separated by a partition; one side was used by the nuns, and the other by the regular members of the parish. Shakespeare once lived in St. Helen’s parish, and is charged up on the church books with a sum of something over five pounds.” Mrs. Pitt gave this information as they walked about, gradually growing accustomed to the dim light.
“See here, John,” whispered Philip; “here’s something interesting. It’s this little square hole in the wall, which is called the ‘nuns’ squint.’ That woman, whom I suppose is the caretaker, has just been telling me what that means. You see, the nunnery was on this side, or, at any rate, the part where the nuns slept. When a nun was dying, the rest would carry her to that little ‘squint,’ and in that way she could look through to the church and see the altar.”
Leaving St. Helen’s Place, and passing the picturesque, narrow façade (or front) of Crosby Hall, Mrs. Pitt took them along Cheapside, one of the most crowded streets of the city. The amount of traffic is tremendous there, and it is said that sometimes teams are held eight hours in the alleys before they can get out. They noted Bow Church, and the site of John Gilpin’s house at the corner of Paternoster Row.
“Oh, is that the John Gilpin in Cowper’s poem?” cried John, excitedly. “He lived here, did he? And where did he ride to?”
“I believe he went out through Tottenham and Edmonton. Mrs. Gilpin was at the Bell Inn at Edmonton when she saw her husband fly by. Over the entrance at the Bell is such a funny picture of the scene! They don’t know just where he went, do they, Mother?” inquired Barbara.
“No, I rather think not,” was Mrs. Pitt’s laughing answer. “Let’s walk through Paternoster Row, now. The little bookshops are so old and quaint! For centuries the booksellers have been loyal to this locality, but I hear that they are beginning to move elsewhere now. Here’s Amen Corner, and Ave Maria Lane is not far away. In London, there’s a reason for the name of almost every street. The monks, in walking from the river to St. Paul’s, used to be telling their beads and reciting their prayers all the while. You see, the Ave Maria was said at this point, and back at the corner came an Amen. In olden days, the makers of rosaries and paternosters had their shops in the little street we have just left, as well as the booksellers. The streets leading off Cheapside show what business was carried on there; for instance, on the south side are Bread, Candles, Soap, Fish, and Money-changing; and on the north side are Wood, Milk, Iron, Honey, and Poultry. By the by, the poet Milton was born in Bread Street. The ironmongers congregated in Ironmongers Lane; the vintners or wine-merchants were in the Vintry; and the makers of hosiery in Hosiery Lane. Now we’ll go to Chancery Lane, and pay a short visit to the Record Office, for there are some things there which I want you to see.”
The Public Record Office is a modern building, constructed for the purpose of keeping the valuable State documents and archives, which, during the present reign, have been moved from the Tower and the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. The different departments of government are continually handing over to the Record Office papers which are no longer needed for daily use. Among the intensely interesting treasures of this museum are the logbooks of the Royal Navy, and dispatches from Marlborough, Wellington, and others. There are State papers of Wolsey, and Thomas Cromwell, and letters of all the kings and queens, as well as of Chaucer, the Black Prince, Raleigh at the Tower, Lady Jane Grey as Queen, Sir Philip Sidney on his death-bed, and many, many others of equal interest.
“Why, you’d need a whole week to see all these!” exclaimed Betty, looking up from her examination of a paper containing the confessions of Guy Fawkes.
Mrs. Pitt glanced at her quickly. She was excited, and her face was flushed.