By those who delight in Mrs. Gore’s pleasant fancies, and participate in her delicate horrors of the undiscovered wilds of Bedford-square, we fear the subject of our present sketch will be voted in terra incognita; but as we have the bump of benevolence extensively developed, and have the good fortune to be versed in oriental lore and localities, we may mention that Stepney is situate in the east end of London, and comprises nearly the whole space between Mile-end-road and the river Thames from Whitechapel to Bow. This fine old church, one of the most ancient, indeed, in the metropolis, is well worthy a visit, and the densely-filled churchyard, perhaps, still more so to those who delight in grave pursuits. We would not by any means recommend too large a dose of Hervey, but we envy not the man who could spend an hour in this “silent city.
“Where the cares of earth are ended, and the weary are at rest,” and not find himself a wiser and a better man for the effort. Here, at length, we find the quiet depository of all those tormenting fears and tantalizing hopes, “too strong for words, too deep for tears,” which made up the mingled yarn in the web of existence, bringing home to the bosom of the most reckless, as his eye rests on that “writing on the wall,” a conviction that
“there twines
O’er mankind’s sweetest hopes corruption sure,
To blast their beauty, e’en while most it shines!
“Tis but to teach us there are worlds above,
Where hope fruition finds in endless love!”
The parish church, dedicated to St. Dunstan and All Saints, is a large Gothic structure of the early part of the thirteenth century, consisting of a chancel, nave, and two aisles, separated by clustered columns and pointed arches. At the west end is a square tower, containing a fine tenor bell, the gift of Nicholas Chadworth, date unknown, but renewed by Thos. Marston, in 1386, and recast again in 1764. The windows are various, but for the most part of the architecture which prevailed in the fourteenth century. Those in the north aisle have obtuse arches of a later date. In the south wall of the chancel are two stone stalls with pointed arches. On the north side is a marble monument with a groined elliptical arch, under which stands an altar-tomb to the memory of Sir Henry Colet, Knight, Citizen, and Silkmercer of London. Sir Henry was Lord Mayor in 1486, and again in 1495. He was third son of Robert Colet, Esq., and father of Dr. John Colet, founder of St. Paul’s School. This tomb is kept in good repair by the Mercers’ Company. On the north wall are several monuments, the most notable of which is that of Sir John Berry, surmounted by a fine bust in white marble of that gallant officer, who, by his daring exploits, gained the distinguished consideration of his Sovereign, the Merry Monarch. On the cast wall, among a host of burly citizens, with their kneeling wives and daughters, we perceive the monument, erected in 1622 by the Corporation of the Trinity House, to the good old knight, Sir Thomas Spert, Comptroller of the Navy to Henry VIll., and first master of that ancient and honourable fraternity. There are also a profusion of monumental memorials on the chancel floor, but none requiring special notice in our brief sketch. The font, which is a genuine antique and of exquisite workmanship, stands on a circular pillar, surrounded by four others of smaller size. Norden mentions, as worthy of note, the tomb of William Chaldnam, erected in 1484; but that, as well as the monument of Lord Darnley, who died in 1545, which Weevor mentions as having stood within the chancel, has disappeared. He was elder brother of the Earl of Darnley who married Mary Queen of Scots, and was father of James I. On the outside of the church, over the porch, is a representation of the Crucifixion, rudely carved; and on the west wall an imperfect basso reliero of a figure adoring the infant Jesus.
The above is a very old piece of sculpture on the building, and seems properly to belong to some much more ancient edifice.
In the wall of a small porch there is a stone which thus touchingly moralizeth its travels:—
“Or Carthage wall I was a stone :
O mortals, read with pity!
Time consumes all—it spareth none-
Man, mountain, town, or city.
Therefore, O mortals, now bethink
You whereunto you must,
Since now such stately buildings
Lie buried in the dust.”
Here lieth a lady who seems to have done the state some service: Mrs. Goodlad, aged 99, with her 20 daughters. And here, also, Wolsey’s favourite ambassador, Bishop Kyte, found his last resting-place, shortly after his return from
“Spayne, where he right joyfullye
Combined both princes in pease most amate.”
Here lieth, also, a man who made some noise in his day—
“Roger Crab, that feeds on herbs and roots, here here;
But I believe Diogenes had better cheer.”
Rara avis in terris.
As a striking instance of mortality, scarcely to be paralleled in the records of any other parish in the kingdom, it appears by the register that 154 persons were buried here on the 11th Sept., 1660, the year of the destructive plague.
We have left much unnoticed of this fine old church, which, notwithstanding all the centuries which have passed over it, still looks
“As if Time had been to it all sunlight and soft dew;
As if upon its freshness the cold rime
Of decay should never fall.”
The Illustrated London News, London, England, Week Ending November 19, 1842
