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any of the names。 No question did I ever ask of living creature
concerning these churches； and no answer to any antiquarian
question on the subject that I ever put to books； shall harass the
reader's soul。 A full half of my pleasure in them arose out of
their mystery； mysterious I found them； mysterious they shall
remain for me。
Where shall I begin my round of hidden and forgotten old churches
in the City of London？
It is twenty minutes short of eleven on a Sunday morning； when I
stroll down one of the many narrow hilly streets in the City that
tend due south to the Thames。 It is my first experiment； and I
have come to the region of Whittington in an omnibus； and we have
put down a fierce…eyed； spare old woman； whose slate…coloured gown
smells of herbs； and who walked up Aldersgate…street to some chapel
where she comforts herself with brimstone doctrine； I warrant。 We
have also put down a stouter and sweeter old lady； with a pretty
large prayer…book in an unfolded pocket…handkerchief； who got out
at a corner of a court near Stationers' Hall； and who I think must
go to church there； because she is the widow of some deceased old
Company's Beadle。 The rest of our freight were mere chance
pleasure…seekers and rural walkers； and went on to the Blackwall
railway。 So many bells are ringing； when I stand undecided at a
street corner； that every sheep in the ecclesiastical fold might be
a bell…wether。 The discordance is fearful。 My state of indecision
is referable to； and about equally divisible among； four great
churches； which are all within sight and sound； all within the
space of a few square yards。
As I stand at the street corner； I don't see as many as four people
at once going to church； though I see as many as four churches with
their steeples clamouring for people。 I choose my church； and go
up the flight of steps to the great entrance in the tower。 A
mouldy tower within； and like a neglected washhouse。 A rope comes
through the beamed roof； and a man in the corner pulls it and
clashes the bell … a whity…brown man； whose clothes were once black
… a man with flue on him； and cobweb。 He stares at me； wondering
how I come there； and I stare at him； wondering how he comes there。
Through a screen of wood and glass； I peep into the dim church。
About twenty people are discernible； waiting to begin。 Christening
would seem to have faded out of this church long ago； for the font
has the dust of desuetude thick upon it； and its wooden cover
（shaped like an old…fashioned tureen…cover） looks as if it wouldn't
come off； upon requirement。 I perceive the altar to be rickety and
the Commandments damp。 Entering after this survey； I jostle the
clergyman in his canonicals； who is entering too from a dark lane
behind a pew of state with curtains； where nobody sits。 The pew is
ornamented with four blue wands； once carried by four somebodys； I
suppose； before somebody else； but which there is nobody now to
hold or receive honour from。 I open the door of a family pew； and
shut myself in； if I could occupy twenty family pews at once I
might have them。 The clerk； a brisk young man （how does HE come
here？）； glances at me knowingly； as who should say； 'You have done
it now； you must stop。' Organ plays。 Organ…loft is in a small
gallery across the church； gallery congregation； two girls。 I
wonder within myself what will happen when we are required to sing。
There is a pale heap of books in the corner of my pew； and while
the organ； which is hoarse and sleepy； plays in such fashion that I
can hear more of the rusty working of the stops than of any music；
I look at the books； which are mostly bound in faded baize and
stuff。 They belonged in 1754； to the Dowgate family； and who were
they？ Jane Comport must have married Young Dowgate； and come into
the family that way； Young Dowgate was courting Jane Comport when
he gave her her prayer…book； and recorded the presentation in the
fly…leaf； if Jane were fond of Young Dowgate； why did she die and
leave the book here？ Perhaps at the rickety altar； and before the
damp Commandments； she； Comport； had taken him； Dowgate； in a flush
of youthful hope and joy； and perhaps it had not turned out in the
long run as great a success as was expected？
The opening of the service recalls my wandering thoughts。 I then
find； to my astonishment； that I have been； and still am； taking a
strong kind of invisible snuff； up my nose； into my eyes； and down
my throat。 I wink； sneeze； and cough。 The clerk sneezes； the
clergyman winks； the unseen organist sneezes and coughs （and
probably winks）； all our little party wink； sneeze； and cough。 The
snuff seems to be made of the decay of matting； wood； cloth； stone；
iron； earth； and something else。 Is the something else； the decay
of dead citizens in the vaults below？ As sure as Death it is！ Not
only in the cold； damp February day； do we cough and sneeze dead
citizens； all through the service； but dead citizens have got into
the very bellows of the organ； and half choked the same。 We stamp
our feet to warm them； and dead citizens arise in heavy clouds。
Dead citizens stick upon the walls； and lie pulverised on the
sounding…board over the clergyman's head； and； when a gust of air
comes； tumble down upon him。
In this first experience I was so nauseated by too much snuff； made
of the Dowgate family； the Comport branch； and other families and
branches； that I gave but little heed to our dull manner of ambling
through the service； to the brisk clerk's manner of encouraging us
to try a note or two at psalm time； to the gallery…congregation's
manner of enjoying a shrill duet； without a notion of time or tune；
to the whity…brown man's manner of shutting the minister into the
pulpit； and being very particular with the lock of the door； as if
he were a dangerous animal。 But； I tried again next Sunday； and
soon accustomed myself to the dead citizens when I found that I
could not possibly get on without them among the City churches。
Another Sunday。
After being again rung for by conflicting bells； like a leg of
mutton or a laced hat a hundred years ago； I make selection of a
church oddly put away in a corner among a number of lanes … a
smaller church than the last； and an ugly： of about the date of
Queen Anne。 As a congregation； we are fourteen strong： not
counting an exhausted charity school in a gallery； which has
dwindled away to four boys； and two girls。 In the porch； is a
benefaction of loaves of bread； which there would seem to be nobody
left in the exhausted congregation to claim； and which I saw an
exhausted beadle； long faded out of uniform； eating with his eyes
for self and family when I passed in。 There is also an exhausted
clerk in a brown wig； and two or three exhausted doors and windows
have been bricked up； and the service books are musty； and the
pulpit cushions are threadbare； and the whole of the church
furniture is in a very advanced stage of exhaustion。 We are three
old women （habitual）； two young lovers （accidental）； two tradesmen；
one with a wife and one alone； an aunt and nephew； again two girls
（these two girls dressed out for church with everything about them
limp that should be stiff； and VICE VERSA； are an invariable
experience）； and three sniggering boys。 The clergyman is； perhaps；
the chaplain of a civic company； he has the moist and vinous look；
and eke the bulbous boots； of one acquainted with 'Twenty port； and
comet vintages。
We are so quiet in our dulness that the three sniggering boys； who
have got away into a corner by the altar…railing； give us a start；
like crackers； whenever they laugh。 And this reminds me of my own
village church where； during sermon…time on bright Sundays when the
birds are very musical indeed； farmers' boys patter out over the
stone pavement； and the clerk steps out from his desk after them；
and is distinctly heard in the summer repose to pursue and punch
them in the churchyard； and is seen to return with a meditative
countenance； making believe that nothing of the sort has happened。
The aunt and nephew in this City church are much disturbed by the
sniggering boys。 The nephew is himself a boy； and the sniggerers
tempt him to secular thoughts of marbles and string； by secretly
offering such commodities to his distant contemplation。 This young
Saint Anthony for a while resists； but presently becomes a
backslider； and in dumb show defies the sniggerers to 'heave' a
marble or two in his direction。 Here in he is detected by the aunt
（a rigorous reduced gentlewoman who has the charge of offices）； and
I perceive that worthy relative to poke him in the side； with the
corrugated hooked handle of an ancient umbrella。 The nephew
revenges himself for this； by holding his breath and terrifying his
kinswoman with the dread belief that he has made up his mind to
burst。 Regardless of whispe