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 A LECTURE 
 
 REV. ARTHUR P. STANLEY, M.A. 
 
 CANON OF CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL, LATE FELLOW OF UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, 
 OXFORD, AUTHOR OF THE " LIFE OF ARNOLD. " * 
 
 DELIVERED BEFORE THE 
 
 YOUNG MEN'S CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION, 
 
 IN EXETER HALL, 
 
 January 31, 1054.
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 It was a great satisfaction to me to find, after choosing this 
 subject for a Lecture, that it was the very one which had 
 been commended to your special attention by the distin- 
 guished man who has done you and us the honour of opening 
 this course of Lectures by advice on the best mode of sys- 
 tematic reading ; and I trust that in what I am about to say 
 there will be nothing inconsistent with the spirit of his 
 remarks. 
 
 I need not waste words on the great importance and 
 interest of Modern History — of History altogether, as the 
 link which binds together the successive generations of man- 
 kind — of Modern History in particular, as that of which 
 we ourselves form a part. But when I come to speak of 
 the study of it, the same question, doubtless, will occur 
 to every one — How can we hope to grapple with such 
 an immense subject? On the one hand, detailed histories 
 of the whole extent of English or of European history are 
 entirely beyond our reach ; on the other hand, short abridge- 
 ments and compendiums are so dry and meagre, that we 
 hardly learn anything from them. To a certain extent this 
 difficulty is insurmountable. If we would know History 
 fully, we must bestow much time upon it ; if we wish to
 
 348 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 know it compendiously, we must be content to lose half 
 its instruction, and almost all its attractions. 
 
 Still, there is a remedy arising from the very nature of 
 History itself, which, as soon as we are reminded of it, we 
 can apply for ourselves. In history, as in everything 6lse, 
 it is a great mistake to look upon everything that is 
 told us as of equal importance. Here, as elsewhere, there 
 are some points which concentrate and condense in them- 
 selves whole masses of inferior events ; so that, if we know 
 them thoroughly, we shall be able to know a vast number 
 of lesser objects, before, and behind, and around us, which 
 those greater points involve. If we can get hold of any one 
 point of this kind, it is like ascending to the top of some com- 
 manding height, over a large city or country : what seemed 
 all confused and unintelligible whilst we were in the streets 
 or the plain now assumes its proper proportion and meaning. 
 One hour of such a view is worth days of minuter investi- 
 gation amongst the various objects which we now see un- 
 rolled before us as in a map. Abridgements which should, 
 as it were, leap from one such eminence to another, de- 
 scribing particular epochs, persons, events, places, with great 
 fulness, and passing slightly over the dreary wastes of 
 intervening periods, might be full, not only of instruction, 
 but of amusement and interest. 
 
 What, then, are these points, and which shall I select ? 
 I might take one or more of those great epochs which 
 contain within themselves the secrets of the whole of the rest 
 of Modern History. Or, I might take some one great event or 
 scene which represented each one of those epochs, describing 
 it in all its details, and showing in what relation it stood to 
 the rest of the age. Or, I might take some one great charac- 
 ter ; a thousand ordinary men go, it is said, to make up one 
 hero — and so, by understanding perfectly that one saint or 
 hero, you understand all the thoughts and feelings that in his 

 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 349 
 
 great character were wrapt up and expressed. Or, I might 
 take the history of some one great place — some scene where 
 great events have been performed — where great men have 
 lived and died — where by the thousand threads of local asso- 
 ciations we are insensibly brought within the recollections 
 of the past, and introduced into its very presence. 
 
 I have mentioned all these modes that they may serve as 
 landmarks for your reading, if any of you are so disposed. I 
 mention them all with the general advice, which the mention 
 of them of itself involves, — " Take care of the great events, 
 and the little ones will take care of themselves." 
 
 But in my own selection this evening I have been guided 
 by the wish to take one of these points on which I might 
 presume all of my hearers to be more or less familiar. I 
 therefore propose to view the study of Modern History 
 through the eyes, if I may so say, not of a great age, or 
 event, or man, but of a great 'place. And here I feel sure 
 that you will anticipate me in the selection of the place which 
 I shall choose as my instance. Whatever might be the mode 
 by which I should enforce or illustrate the study of Modern 
 History elsewhere, here I can have no doubt that it ought to 
 be by the study of London. 
 
 It is the peculiar compensation to the inhabitants of a 
 city like this, that what others gain from the study and 
 enjoyment of Nature, you may gain from the study and 
 enjoyment of History. What geology, mineralogy, and 
 botany, are to the dAvellers in rustic parishes, that History 
 is to the occupants of streets, the neighbours of houses, 
 whose very names are famous. The pleasure which a 
 botanist finds in the flowers along the common pathways of 
 his daily walks — the pleasure which the geologist finds in 
 hills, and valleys, and roads, and railroads, as if their very 
 sides were hung with beautiful pictures, which to him alone 
 are visible — this same pleasure is given to ihe historian
 
 350 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 as he looks at tlie buildings, as he sees the names, of even 
 the commonest streets in London. He sees there what 
 others see not; and, as the structure of the earth to a student 
 of geology becomes an orderly and beautiful system instead 
 of a disjointed mass of stone and earth, so London, to a 
 student of History, instead of a mere collection of bricks 
 and mortar, becomes a book in which the history of the 
 past is written on every street, and in every square, as in 
 the pages of some richly-illuminated volume. 
 
 Let me, then, so far as the present time will allow, 
 unfold this book before you, and show you how in it some 
 of the most striking lessons of History may be conveyed, 
 where, perhaps, you may least expect to find them. 
 
 Before I go into any detail, let me make two remarks 
 which apply to London as a wnole. First, the mere fact 
 of its grandeur — of its vast size — of the ceaseless stir 
 and excitement of its daily and hourly life — is an assist- 
 ance to the comprehension of History far beyond what 
 those can have who live away from it. It raises us out 
 of ourselves — it gives us a consciousness of nearness to 
 the great pulses ot national life. No thoughtful person, 
 who can remember his first entrance into London, can fail 
 to look back upon it as an epoch in his life. To have seen, 
 for the first time, that countless tide of human beings — 
 to look, for the first time, from one of the bridges, or from 
 any height, within or around the city, over the vast region, 
 rather than town, which is included within the name of 
 "London" — is a shock like that which the Englishman ex- 
 periences when, for the first time, he lands amidst the un- 
 wonted sights and sounds of a Continental port, — which 
 the European traveller experiences when, for the first time, 
 he encounters the strange, yet familiar, images of an Eastern 
 land. London, as has been truly said, however deficient in 
 splendour or beauty, is yet, by the mere fact of its immense
 
 THE STUDY OP MODERN HISTORY. 351 
 
 size, " sublime with the sublimity of sea or of mountains." 
 It conveys, to any one who views it in connexion with its 
 History, the same elevating and ennobling feelings which 
 sea or mountains give to those who live within their reach. 
 It teaches us, in this respect, exactly that lesson of hu- 
 mility and of moderation which we ought to derive from 
 the magnitude and many-sidedness of famous events and 
 famous men. 
 
 But, secondly, there is another circumstance in the histo- 
 rical aspect of London which, at first sight, might seem to 
 detract from its interest, but which still has a pecuUar 
 lesson of its own to tell us. You must not expect to find in 
 London what you find in many Continental cities — the actual 
 scenes of many great events. Look over the history of 
 England, and you will find that, except the State-trials, im- 
 prisonments, executions, and meetings of Parliament, hardly 
 any great event has happened in London. Look, on the 
 other hand, over the history of France, and you will find 
 that hardly any great event has — at least in later times — 
 happened out of Paris. What a key is this to the cha- 
 racters, the feelings, the revolutions, of the two countries ! 
 We see, by a glance at Paris, how entirely France is the 
 nation of a great city ; we see, by a glance at London, how 
 entirely London is the city of a great nation. We see this, 
 and we feel at once its importance to our whole mode of 
 regarding the relations of the capital to the country. We 
 feel that, great as London is, England is a thousand times 
 greater ; our pride and our thankfulness is, not that we are 
 Londoners, but that we are Englishmen ; not that we rule 
 the country, but that the country rules us; and that in the 
 welfare of that common country the highest nobleman, the 
 busiest citizen, the most retired rustic, has, I will not say an 
 equal, but certainly a deep and a common interest. 
 
 And now, from these two general remarks on this great
 
 352 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTOIIT 
 
 book of English history, which all of you have, as it were, 
 in your hands whilst I speak, — from these two remarks, 
 telling you what you are, and what you are not, to expect 
 in its pages, — ^let me open those pages and go through them, 
 not, indeed, in detail, but selecting such parts as chiefly bear 
 on the subject now before us. 
 
 First, as in all history, we must go back as far as we 
 can, and find that basis on which it must always rest, 
 namely, its geography. No one can ever gain a clear notion 
 of historical events without a clear notion of the ground on 
 which they have been enacted : and this is specially impor- 
 tant with regard to capital cities. Ask always what was 
 the reason why this or that place should have been selected 
 as the metropolis of a great nation, and you will, in all pro- 
 bability, have learned one chief characteristic of the nation 
 itself. Was there anything of the kind in the situation ol 
 London ? Was there anything which might have taught a 
 Druid of ancient times what was in store ^or his coming 
 country, as he sat where we are now assembled ? 
 
 Let us for a moment try to see London as he then saw 
 it. A long range of rising ground, covered with a vast 
 forest, full of wild deer, wild boars, and wild bulls — descend- 
 ing from what are now the hills of Hampstead in a gradual 
 slope to a broad river, steeply on the east, through a deep 
 morass on the west — a few streams rushing down from the 
 hills, through the woods, into the river — this was the most 
 ancient form of London. Most of these features it is difficult 
 now even to imagine, much less to recognise ; yet some of 
 them still linger where you would least expect. 
 
 Jn the depths of the city you may remember one of the 
 most beautiful of Sir Christopher Wren's churches — St. 
 Stephen's, Walbrook. By that church there flows the Brook 
 of London FTall — the Wall-brook — which still rushes down 
 with such a torrent that a workman, clearing the sewer
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 353 
 
 which it now forms, was once carried away by it. Every 
 one knows Holborn Hill, but how few remember that it 
 takes its name from the Old Bourne or stream which, rising 
 in High Holborn, ran down that steep declivity, and turned 
 the mills at Turnmill, or Turnbull Street, at the bottom, — 
 the River of WeUs, as it was sometimes called, from those 
 old consecrated springs which now lie choked and buried 
 in Clerken Well, and Holy Well, and St. Clement's Well 
 Fleet Ditch, Fleet Street, Fleet Market — all mark the course 
 of the brook, called, from its rapidity, the Fleet, rising far 
 away in the breezy slopes of Hampstead. Tyburn, in like 
 manner, is the brook of the Tye, or Aye, which, after giving 
 name, first, to Mary -le -bourne (now corrupted into Mary- 
 bone), and then to Upper and Lower Brook Street, and 
 running under the mount of Mount Street, and under 
 " Hay,'' or, as it used to be called (from this stream) " Aye 
 Hill," ran out through the Green Park, and spread into 
 the western morass of which I spoke before. That morass 
 occupied the whole of what is now Belgravia, — which, as 
 you know, has been but recently reclaimed, — and the slill 
 older marsh inclosed between the river and the Long Ditch 
 which once gave its name to what is now Great George 
 Street in Westminster, and so formed a marshy island, over- 
 grown with thickets, whence it was called Thorney Island, 
 on which rose, in after days, Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Now, when you think how completely most of these 
 natural features have been obscured, you may wonder what 
 connexion they can have with any subsequent history of the 
 great city which has grown out of them. But, even if there 
 were no direct connexion, there is still something almost 
 affecting in the thought that, after all, we are not so far 
 removed from our mother earth, from natural influences, 
 as you might suppose. There is something of a quaint and 
 touching interest to remember that the great arteries of our 
 
 A A
 
 354 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 crowded streets, the vast sewers which cleanse our habita- 
 tions, are fed by the life-blood of those old and living streams 
 — that underneath our tread the Tyburn, and the Oldbourne, 
 and the Fleet, and the Wall-brook, are still pursuing their 
 ceaseless course — still ministering to the good of man, 
 though in a far different fashion than when Druids drank 
 of their sacred springs, and Saxons were baptized in their 
 rushing waters, centuries and ages ago. 
 
 But amidst all these changes there is one natural feature 
 which remains the same — the River Thames — the largest 
 river in England — here widening to an almost majestic size, 
 yet not too wide for thoroughfare — the direct communication 
 between London and the sea, on the one hand, between 
 London and the inland counties on the other. When roads 
 were bad, when robbers were many, when the forests were 
 still thick — then, even more than now, the Thames was the 
 great highway of ^English life — the great inlet and outlet of 
 English commerce. Here, from the very earliest times, the 
 coracles, or wicker -boats, of the British tribes, the galleys 
 of the Roman armies, were moored, which gave to the place 
 its name — now through its thousand masts and funnels far 
 more appropriate than in its first origin — the city of ships. 
 Such is the probable meaning of the name of London, which 
 it bore as early as the first century of our era, when it first 
 appears in the pages of Tacitus, even before the birth of 
 Modern History. Such was the situation which ultimately 
 fixed its supremacy over aU the other towns which have at 
 various times claimed to be capitals of England — York, 
 Canterbury, and Winchester, — such the omen which it gave, 
 even at its very birth, of being the seat of the greatest 
 maritime empire which the world has ever seen. The 
 Thames is the parent of London. The chief river of England 
 has given birth, by a natural consequence, to England's 
 greatest city. The old historic stream, which gathered on
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 355 
 
 the banks of its upper course Oxford, Eton, Windsor, and 
 Richmond, had already, before the first beginning of those 
 ancient seats of learning and of regal luxury, become on 
 these its lower banks the home of England's commerce 
 and England's power. 
 
 This is the chief natural element of London connected 
 with its subsequent growth; but the others which I men- 
 tioned have not been without importance in determining 
 the rest of its fortunes. The slight rising grounds on the 
 east naturally became the seat of the city. Corn Hill, 
 Tower Hill, and Ludgate Hill, still remind us that the old 
 London, like all fastnesses and capitals, took advantage of 
 whatever strength their natural situation afforded ; and, 
 therefore, as you go up to Corn-Hill, the original seat of 
 British chiefs and Roman governors, as you feel the ground 
 swelling under your feet when you begin the ascent from 
 Fleet Street to St. Paul's, or as you see the eminence on 
 which stands the Tower of London, the oldest, and once 
 the chief palace and fortress of our English kings, you have 
 before you the reasons which fixed what is properly called 
 the " city^^ of London on its present site. There the first 
 dwellers of the land looked down on the river beneath; 
 drank of the fresh rivulets in the winding valleys which 
 intersected their earthen bulwarks : the deep ravine of 
 the Fleet protected them on the west — the rushing Wall- 
 brook on the east ; behind them was the great forest, with 
 its savage beasts ; before them was the Thames, then spread- 
 ing far and wide over what were then the lakes and 
 marshes of Lambeth and Southwark. And when from these 
 heights, if I may so call them, you descend to the level 
 plain, and ask how it is that the seat of government 
 was transferred from these eastern eminences to that remote 
 corner in Westminster, where it is now fixed ; there again 
 the original cause may be found in the wild morass — the
 
 356 THE STUDY OF MODEKN HJ STORY. 
 
 thorny thickets which occupied the ground eighteen hundred 
 years ago. The one nucleus and centre of the whole of what 
 we now call Westminster is the great Abbey, of which the 
 first foundation was laid by a Saxon king in the seventh 
 century ; and the situation of that Abbey, as of most mo- 
 nastic institutions, was probably fixed by the nearness to 
 the river side, whence they could receive provisions with 
 less trouble and difficulty; and also by the jungle and marsh, 
 which made the island on which they were settled a natural 
 refuge from the savage marauders who then infested the 
 country. And round the Abbey, thus entrenched within 
 its deep morass, gradually sprang up, first, the favourite 
 Palace of the sovereigns, who felt more secure under the 
 shadow of the great sanctuary than even in their own for- 
 tress in the Tower, and then within the walls of the Palace, 
 the "Chambers" — the "Houses" — first one, and then both 
 " Houses " of Parliament, which have now grown in power 
 and grandeur till they have absorbed the whole site of that 
 ancient habitation of their sovereign. 
 
 If there are any Scotchmen here present, — if any who 
 have visited the beautiful capital of the sister kingdom, 
 it may help you to understand what I have said about 
 London, if I compare it with the same features exhibited 
 on a smaller scale — but still more forcibly — in Edinburgh. 
 There you will remember the Castle on its high rock, cor- 
 responding to Cornhill and the Tower of London, — then the 
 houses of the nobles, in the High Street, corresponding (as I 
 shall afterwards show you) to our Strand, — then the old 
 Palace of the Scottish kings, in the Abbey of the Holy 
 Cross, or Holy Rood, which, like Westminster, stood in 
 early times amidst what was once a thick forest. 
 
 I have dwelt longer on this original aspect of London 
 than, perhaps, its intrinsic importance deserves, because it is 
 never out of place to trace back to its very first causes the
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 357 
 
 origin of what has since become famous — because the in- 
 fluence thus exercised over our history by the natural fea- 
 tures of our capital city is an index of that constant inter- 
 weaving of God's Providence with man's efforts, of which 
 all History is composed. On the one hand, without its river, 
 without its morasses, without its fresh streams, without its 
 gentle eminences, London would not have been what it is ; 
 but, on the other hand, without the energy, and the courage, 
 and the piety, first of the Roman colonists, who chose this as 
 their harbour, — then of the Saxons, then of the Normans, 
 then of the great English empire, — ^without all this, the 
 Thames and its tributary brooks would have flowed in 
 vain, — the hills of Ludgate and the Tower would have 
 remained steep banks of London clay, — the place where the 
 most august assembly of the world is at this moment de- 
 bating the fortunes of Europe and of Asia would still have 
 been an impenetrable thicket in a pestilential marsh. 
 
 This is one advantage of studying History through the 
 medium of a great place like London — that it takes us 
 back to the time before History began, and out of which it 
 sprang. Another advantage is, that it enables us, perhaps, 
 more vividly than anything else, to imagine the difference 
 between our times and those which have gone before. 
 Doubtless, we are in many important points the same as 
 were our ancestors. We are men, we are Christians, we are 
 Englishmen, as they were. But we do not enough re- 
 member how differently, in many points, they must have 
 placed things before their minds — what different ideas the 
 same objects, the same words, the same names in religion, 
 in politics, in nature, in art, must have suggested to them 
 and to us. One easy and ready mode of thus recalling the 
 past, at least in its outward form, is by familiarity with 
 the relics which it has left, few and far between, in an 
 ancient city like this.
 
 358 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 But, perhaps, before I go further, I ought to remind you 
 of one melancholy cause why the old City of London con- 
 tains so much less of these past recollections than any other 
 city equally ancient ; and that is, the great Fire which 
 raged for four long days and nights in the disastrous year 
 of 1666. And, in speaking of this great Fire, I cannot 
 forbear to remind you of some of the historical lessons 
 which it teaches us. One is, that though it destroyed much 
 it cleared away much. If it carried away fine old churches, 
 and beautiful wooden houses, and dark winding alleys, it also 
 carried away the Plague. The Plague, which raged in the 
 spring of that year, has never attacked us since — and that 
 blessing we owe, in great measure, to the clearance made by 
 the Fire. So it is that there always is a compensation in 
 human events — no evil comes without its good, no good 
 without its evil. Let us make the best of both. 
 
 Another lesson that the Fire teaches us is, what is 
 contained in the story of the great pillar which is called the 
 Monument. That pillar, which stands at the entrance of 
 Pudding Lane, where the Fire began, as by an odd and 
 well-known coincidence it ended in Pie Corner, was the 
 Monument of which Pope speaks, when he says — 
 
 ** Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies." 
 
 It lies now no longer. The lie which it once told was a 
 ridiculous calumny — that the city was burnt (so the inscrip- 
 tion ran) " by the malice and treachery of the Popish fac- 
 tion," who were at that time even more unpopular with the 
 mass of our countrymen than they are now. The inscrip- 
 tion which recorded this was erased about twenty years 
 ago. The Monument, therefore, now remains a happy in- 
 stance of what it is often the privilege of history to record, 
 an instance of at least one cause of needless irritation gone
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 35^ 
 
 to the abyss, whence it will no more return, — a proof that 
 truth and justice have no need of support from folly and 
 falsehood. 
 
 But now let me very briefly go through such points as 
 escaped the Fire, and as may best recall to us the successive 
 stages of Modern History with which London has kept pace. 
 
 First, there is the earliest beginning of London and of 
 England — when the armies of the Roman conqueror lifted 
 up the veil which concealed Britain from the rest of the 
 world. Last week you heard of the noble deeds and words 
 of the touching life and tragical death of the Roman orator 
 Cicero. Is there anything which can recall him or his coun- 
 trymen to your thoughts as you pass to and fro through the 
 crowded thoroughfares of London ? In the churchyard of 
 St. Giles's, Cripplegate (a church famous for the burial and 
 the marriage of two of our greatest men in later times — the 
 burial of Milton and the marriage of Cromwell), many of 
 you may have seen — but many of you, perhaps, have never 
 seen — the venerable remains of the old Roman wall imbedded 
 in the huge bastion of later times, as truly a fragment of 
 Roman workmanship as the columns that are now standing 
 in the Forum, or the aqueducts that still stretch their 
 melancholy and majestic lines along the desolate Cam- 
 pagna. And if you chance, as you walk up Cannon Street, 
 to cast a glance, on your left-hand side, at the wall of St. 
 Swithin's Church — you will there see, in the ancient frag- 
 ment called London Stone, a memorial of the manner in 
 which that mighty nation carried their customs every- 
 where throughout the world. That stone was the central 
 stone, or terminus, from which radiated out in all direc- 
 tions those magnificent roads, running straight as an arrow 
 over hill and valley, north, and west, and south, and east, 
 for which the Romans were so justly celebrated — the great 
 instruments by which they replenished, and subdued, and
 
 360 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 civilised, the nations that were subject to their sway. 
 Such a stone — called the Golden Milestone — stood in the 
 Roman Forum amidst ail the splendour of the statues, and 
 temples, and triumphal arches, which adorned that glorious 
 scene. Such, on a miniature scale — making London, even 
 in that its first infancy, so far as they could, a copy of 
 their own great capital — is the stone which you can still 
 see, and feel, and touch, in the heart of what is now grown 
 to be the greatest city, except Rome, that has ever yet arisen. 
 
 These relics of Roman times lie barely within our subject 
 — but they are on the threshold of Modern History, though 
 not within the province of Modern History itself ; and they 
 are for this very reason important, as reminding you that 
 out of Ancient History Modern History rose — that the 
 study of Greece and Rome is indispensable to a full know- 
 ledge of the growth of our own country, and constitution, 
 and religion. They are the witnesses, in the midst of the 
 roar and whirl of modern times, to the importance and the 
 value to our history and to our education of what we call 
 Classical Studies. 
 
 From this remote age let us come nearer to our own 
 time. I will not detain you in the periods of British, of 
 Saxon, and Danish history, further than to give you two or 
 three instances which may, at least, give a transient gleam 
 of interest to names and streets which connect us with those 
 distant epochs. 
 
 I know not whether the British period is too obscure to 
 justify any allusion. What traces there are of its existence 
 can at best be very doubtful ; yet I cannot altogether forget 
 that St. Peter's, Cornhill, claims to stand on the most an- 
 cient consecrated ground in England ; that it pretends (as 
 you may still see, if you read the brass -plate in its vestry) 
 to take precedence even of the great Cathedral of St. Paul's 
 — ^yes, and I must add even of the great Cathedral of Can- 
 
 \^
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 361 
 
 terbury itself ; for there, as the story runs, the first British 
 king, Lucius, lived and was baptized, four hundred years 
 before the conversion of the Saxon Ethelbert, and made it 
 the metropolitan church of his whole kingdom, — the same 
 Lucius, on whom, in his after years, we unexpectedly stum- 
 ble, if we travel abroad amongst the Alps of Eastern Swit- 
 zerland, as one of the British missionaries, who gave up his 
 crown to go and convert those wild mountaineers to the faith 
 of Christ. 
 
 So much for British times. In Saxon times, how few there 
 are who remember, as they pass through Addle Street, in the 
 City, that it derives its name from the palace of the great 
 King Athelstane, who broke down the last resistance of the 
 Brwish race — carried the banner of the White Horse of the 
 Saxon to the Land's End in Cornwall, and slew the last King 
 of Cumberland, whose bones lie buried under the huge cairn, 
 between Grasmere and Keswick, called from him Dunmail 
 Raise. Li Danish times, only a few hundred yards from this, 
 — in the name of the Church of St. Clement DaneSy you. 
 may be reminded of the time when the brief power of that 
 savage nation was overthrown, and the few that, in consi- 
 deration of their English wives, survived the extirpation of 
 their countrymen, were constrained to live on that spot, — shut 
 out, as you will observe, from the sanctuary of Westminster 
 on the one side, from the city of London on the other, — a 
 desolate, isolated, solitary refuge, as it then was, fit for the 
 dwelling-place and burial-place of an accursed and Pagan 
 race. 
 
 Let us pass on to the periods which, though still remote, 
 bring before us more clearly the state of London, and, there- 
 fore, of England, in times more within the reach of our own 
 history. I have spoken of the two extreme points of London 
 — the City on the east, and Westminster on the west. Let 
 us follow its growth between the two j — ^let us see how far
 
 362 THE STUDY OP MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 its gradual expansion has received the impress of the events 
 that have rolled during the course of ages within and around 
 it. Temple Bar, as every one knows, is the limit of the city. 
 From thence to Whitehall was for many centuries a free and 
 open space — not, indeed, uninhabited, but still occupied only 
 by occasional houses or villages, whose existence we can still 
 trace in the names as we pass through what is now one long 
 unbroken mass of streets. 
 
 First, what is the great region on one side of which we 
 are now assembled? It is the Strand, the shore, of the 
 River Thames — once lined with the palaces of the old 
 nobility, whose beautiful gardens sloped down to the water's 
 edge, where they embarked in their stately barges, and 
 then went to and fro on the river, not yet crowded with 
 its countless steamers, to Lambeth, to Westminster, to the 
 Tower, as their business or pleasure called them. Every 
 name, as you look right and left through the whole length 
 of the Strand is the name or group of names of some illus- 
 trious family — Somerset, Cecil, Salisbury, Arundel, Surrey, 
 Norfolk. Two instances only I will select out of the whole 
 mass. One is on the other side of the Strand. If any of 
 you look carefully, you will see in rapid succession George 
 Street, Villiers Street, Duke Street ; then a little behind, Of 
 Alley,* Buckingham Street. Those streets, that alley, those 
 shops, mark the site of what was once one of the most splendid 
 
 Since this Lecture was delivered, I have learned that* Of Alley*' 
 has disappeared. It had become such a haunt of vice that it was deemed 
 advisable to change the very name of the locality; and this change of 
 name and purpose has thus become another incident in the associations of 
 a place which had been for so many generations only linked with the tradi- 
 tions of crime and sin. It has been reserved for our time (if I may use the 
 words of the excellent Vicar of the parish, from whom I derive my infor- 
 aaation) to hear ' * the voice of prayer and praise ascending in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of those ancient resorts of vice," and to witness "a devout 
 jongregation assembled in that long desolate heritage."
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 363 
 
 palaces in England — York House, once the palace of the Arch- 
 bishops of York — then of the wicked George Villiers, Duke 
 of Buckingham, whom you may remember in Sir Walter 
 Scott's novel of " Peveril of the Peak," whose names are now 
 preserved, as I have said, in the streets and alley into which 
 his property was afterwards divided. The other instance I 
 will take is that of the place where we are now met. Exeter 
 Hall is so called from Burleigh House, afterwards Exeter 
 House, which took its name from the Earl of Exeter, and 
 his father, the great Lord Burleigh, Prime Minister of Queen 
 Elizabeth, and one of the best and wisest statesmen that this 
 country ever possessed. Between Burleigh Street, which 
 runs on my right, and Exeter Street, which runs on my left, 
 rose the noble mansion which witnessed the consultations of 
 that great man against enemies abroad and rebels at home — 
 Spanish Armada and Irish insurrections — and which estab- 
 lished the Church, the Monarchy, and the Empire on their 
 present solid basis. I know not how far historical associa- 
 tions may be supposed to linger round a place which has lost 
 all vestiges of its ancient aspect, but any one who considers 
 how grave and how complicated are the questions which 
 are from time to time discussed within these walls, could 
 wish no better wish for their successful issue than that they 
 might be viewed in the calm spirit of the enlightened and 
 high-minded counsellor who once lived and died within the 
 precincts of this famous Hall. 
 
 From the Strand let us advance into what is still an open 
 space. St. Martin's-in-the-i^ieZc?5 still reminds you that 
 there was once a time when it stood a village church in 
 green fields ; and Charing Cross recalls one of the most 
 touching scenes in English history, when the long funeral 
 procession of Eleanor, the beloved wife of King Edward I., 
 who had sucked the poison from his wounded arm in the 
 Holy Land, halted, for the last time, before it reached its final
 
 364 THE STUDY OP MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 resting-place in Westminster Abbey, in the little village 
 which from her is said to have taken its name of Charing — 
 La Chere Heine — The Dear Queen; and in which was 
 erected the last and most beautiful of the memorials called 
 from her " Queen Eleanor's crosses." 
 
 There is a statue in Charing Cross which almost irre- 
 sistibly takes us on a few steps to one of the most historical 
 spots in London. Yesterday — the 30th of January — was the 
 anniversary of that scene which has made Whitehall Place 
 for ever memorable, by the execution of the unfortunate 
 King Charles I. It is one of the few scenes in English 
 history which, in spite of all the changes of time and place, 
 you can still follow step by step from beginning to end. 
 You can go with the king and his escort, from St. James's 
 Palace, where he slept the night before, — you can cross St. 
 James's Park with him on that cold, wintry morning, — you 
 can imagine him entering from the Park the long gallery 
 that then ran across the street, joining together the two 
 parts of Whitehall Palace, — ^you can fancy him passing 
 through the Banqueting Hall, the only part of the Palace 
 that remains, now turned into Whitehall Chapel. You must 
 then imagine him issuing from an aperture made in the 
 wall, east of the Hall. You can see the vast mass of human 
 heads far away to Charing Cross on one side, and to West- 
 minster on the other. You may fancy the old Archbishop 
 Usher sitting, an awe-struck spectator, on the roof of what 
 is now the Admiralty, and ftiinting away as he saw the axe 
 descend. You may hear the deep groan which burst forth 
 from the whole assembled multitude, as the head of the King 
 — still beloved in spite of his faults and because of his mis- 
 fortunes — rolled on the scaffold. I will not enter into the 
 various questions which that scene raises j they would 
 furnish a Lecture in themselves. I now only notice it that 
 you may remember that there is the place where you may
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 365 
 
 form a picture of its outward aspect to your mind's eye. 
 But there is another spot in Whitehall which illustrates so 
 well and so briefly another part of English history, that I 
 must dwell upon it for a moment. Pass behind the Banquet- 
 ing Hall — step into the open space by Whitehall Gardens. 
 You may possibly have turned in there to look at the house 
 of the great statesman for whose untimely death four years 
 ago all London, as it was truly said, " mourned as one 
 family." Pass into that open space, and observe another 
 statue. Who is the King there standing in the midst of the 
 palace court ? It is the son of Charles — the hardly less un- 
 fortunate James II. It is, with one exception, the only 
 statue of that wayward and obstinate king which exists 
 in England. That one exception is over the gateway of 
 the oldest, and, I trust, not the least useful of the colleges 
 of Oxford, where it was placed by the then Jacobite 
 head, Obadiah Walker. But it is not the fact of the 
 statue having been erected either in London or Oxford, but 
 the fact of its continuance in Whitehall, to which I call 
 your attention. It was erected a short time before his fliglit, 
 but it remained after the occupation of that very same palace 
 by his rival and enemy, William III. I have spoken of the 
 contrast between Paris and London — between France and 
 England. I know of no more striking instance of it than 
 the contrast between the total overthrow of all the monu- 
 ments of the past dynasties by those who succeed them in 
 France, and the permission accorded to this memorial of 
 James to remain in the heart of the palace by the very man 
 who had driven out the king whom it represents. Look at 
 it in this aspect, and it becomes one of the most instructive 
 — I had almost said one of the most edifying — monuments 
 in London. It tells of the mildness, of the moderation, of 
 the wisdom of our revolution, as compared with those of 
 Other countries. It tells us of the regard for law, of the
 
 366 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 respect for the past, of the dislike to violent changes which, 
 combined as it is now, and as it was then, with manly love 
 of freedom and independence, constitutes the greatest charm 
 of our national history — the greatest gift that God has be- 
 stowed on our national character. Long may we keep it ; 
 long may the wise and peaceful lessons of Whitehall Gardens 
 prevail, as they have prevailed, over the bloody and mournful 
 recollections of Whitehall Place ! 
 
 Let us briefly follow the course of London westward. 
 Gradually it rolled on. What the Strand was once, Grosvenor 
 Square became in later times ; and what Grosvenor Square 
 was in the days of our fathers, Belgrave Square is becoming 
 now. But it was long before this was effected. In the seven- 
 teenth century, Oxford Eoad was the highroad running to 
 that ancient seat of learning, through fields and hedges ; Pic- 
 cadilly was the name of a solitary house in the outskirts of the 
 suburbs of London ; woodcocks were shot in Conduit Street 
 and Regent Street ; the little brook, of which I spoke before, 
 which gives its name to Brook Street, was sufficient, for 
 many years, to prevent the tide of houses and population 
 from advancing to its western bank. Many instances might 
 be given of the great changes which have been effected in 
 the westward part of London even within the memory of 
 man. I will confine myself to one, which I mention partly 
 because it is, perhaps, not generally known, partly because it 
 is, on a small scale, a curious illustration of what often has 
 occurred on a larger scale in the history of men and manners. 
 Any one who has ever gone through the narrow passage 
 which leads between the gardens of Lansdowne House from 
 Berkeley Square to Piccadilly, will remember the iron rails 
 which bar its entrances. It is now rather more than sixty years 
 ago since the incident occurred which led to their erection. 
 A distinguished person, now dead, was sitting in his study 
 in Bolton Street; he heard a great tumult outside — ran
 
 THE STUDY OP MODERN HISTORY. 367 
 
 to ask what it was — ^was told that a mounted highwayman 
 had robbed a gentleman in Piccadilly, and had galloped 
 down Bolton Row, with a crowd behind him, who hoped to 
 catch him under the walls of Lansdowne Gardens. To the 
 surprise of every one, the highwayman darted down the 
 passage, then free of access, climbed up the steps on the 
 further side, and rode off through Berkeley Square, beyond 
 the reach of his pursuers. And it was to prevent the recur- 
 rence of such an escape that the iron rails which you now 
 see were placed at the entrance and exit of the narrow 
 passage. 
 
 This little incident, curious, in the first instance, as re- 
 calling, where you least expect it, an image of past times, 
 brings me to a graver and more important series of historical 
 lessons, which London may well teach us all. The iron rails 
 of Lansdowne Passage are a memorial of a state of insecurity 
 which has now passed away for ever. Whatever other 
 dangers we may encounter in or about London, we shall cer- 
 tainly never again see a mounted highwayman attacking a 
 traveller in Piccadilly, or escaping at full gallop through 
 Berkeley Square. But what this is on a small scale is 
 brought before us on the largest scale elsewhere. Wherever 
 you turn in London, you see Avhat is the most reassuring and 
 encouraging of all sights that History furnishes — the graves, 
 if I may so call them, of gigantic evils, once triumphant, 
 acknowledged, defended — now trodden under foot never to 
 revive. Turn your steps once more eastward, and look up 
 at Temple Bar. Now every one hurries through it as fast 
 as the throng will allow. But transport yourselves a hun- 
 dred years back, and I will venture to say, that there is not 
 one amongst the thousands who now rush through its narrow 
 arches who would not have paused for a moment to look up 
 at the dreadful sight at the top of the gateway. There were 
 fixed the grisly heads of the noblemen and gentlemen con-
 
 368 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 cerned in the great Stuart Rebellion of 1745. There they 
 were placed immediately after the execution, and there they 
 remained rotting away year by year, to greet you on your 
 approach to the city. These were the last — our fathers just 
 saw the last fragments of the blanched and broken skulls — 
 and we may be well assured that such a sight will be no 
 more seen there as long as the world lasts. I do not venture 
 into the controversy whether that curious gateway should 
 stand or fall ; but so long as it does stand, it is a lasting 
 memorial of one evil, at least, from which we have escaped 
 for ever. "We are now sure never more to have rebellions of 
 rival families against the constitutional throne of these 
 realms ; we are still more sure never again to see such a 
 bloody and barbarous practice as the exhibition of our ene- 
 mies' heads in the great thoroughfare of our metropolis. 
 
 Go on yet again. Look once more at the Tower, the 
 ancient citadel and palace of English kings. I will not go 
 through its eventful history ; I will only ask you to remem- 
 ber what is the chief recollection which it presents. Is it that 
 of the seat of law and justice ? Is it of a sovereign reigning 
 happily and fearlessly in the midst of a virtuous court and a 
 loving family ? No ; it is almost from first to last a monument 
 of war, of oppression, of injustice. Built as a fortress to keep 
 the citizens of London in check, always uniting within its 
 walls the prison hard by the palace, and close beside its 
 walls the place of public execution, there is, perhaps, no 
 spot in England which conveys so striking a picture of the 
 violence of ths middle ages, which some call happy and 
 holy — of the odious union of law with injustice, and monarchy 
 with tyranny, out of which, by long and terrible struggles, 
 our present good constitution has worked itself out. Of the 
 many celebrated persons whose names you see scratched on 
 the guard-room of the Tower, and whose mangled remains 
 lie buried in the Tower Chapel, how few were traitors — havr
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 369 
 
 many were martyrs ! Of the many deaths within and with- 
 out the walls of that stately edifice, under the sanction, almost 
 under the eye, of archbishops, and statesmen, and kings, 
 how few were righteous executions — how many were judicial 
 murders, nay, even midnight assassinations ! 
 
 Once more. Turn northward from the Tower, pass 
 beyond the limits of the city walls, and look out on the 
 vacant space of Smithfield. It is now nearly three hundred 
 years ago since the beginning of those terrible days when 
 the fires were lit opposite the church of St. Bartholomew, of 
 which the ashes remained even till our own time, in which 
 perished the Protestant victims of Queen Mary's cruel per- 
 secution. The very thought of those dreadful scenes still 
 rouses the indignation of every Englishman. But it is not 
 for this that I now call your attention to them ; it is to 
 remind you that the fires then lighted are now, and have 
 been long, extinguished, never again to be kindled; that 
 this great evil of burning men and women for differing in 
 opinion from ourselves is one which we may be quite sure 
 will never return. 
 
 I dwell upon all these cases for two reasons ; £rst, as a 
 reason for thankfulness, and, secondly, as an example and 
 encouragement. We shall never again see the gory heads 
 of rebel noblemen looking down upon us from Temple Bar ; 
 we shall never again hear of kings murdered by their cousins 
 and uncles in the Tower ; we shall never again see Reformers 
 burnt alive in Smithfield. Let us thank God with all our 
 hearts that from these evils He, through the progress of His 
 Providence, through the workings of His good Spirit in the 
 hearts of men and of nations, has set us for ever free. They 
 are gone ; we have left them very far behind us ; with them, 
 at least, we need trouble ourselves no more ; to guard against 
 them now, to declaim against them now, is like putting up 
 crossbars at the corners of our streets to prevent the escape 
 
 B B
 
 370 THE STUDr OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 of mounted robbers from Piccadilly. But do they teach us 
 nothing for the future ? Yes. They teach us that as those 
 evils, great in their day, have now been put down entirely 
 by those who have gone before us, so evils as great in our 
 own day may and must be put down by ourselves and our 
 children. I need not name them. Every one who lives in 
 this metropolis must know of evils, social and moral, — in his 
 neighbourhood, in his calling, in the streets and the alleys of 
 London, — sufficiently great to require all the energy of man, 
 and all the grace of God, to subdue or even to mitigate their 
 power. Think not that such evils are insuperable. Be not 
 discouraged ; remember that evils as great have fallen ; re- 
 member the heads on Temple Bar ; remember the murders 
 on Tower Hill ; remember the fires of Smithfield. 
 
 And remember also — which brings me to a no less 
 important, though more pleasing, lesson of the same kind — 
 remember the good that, even amongst all this evil, existed 
 in former times — the salt of England, the salt of London 
 then — the warning to us how we of this age may be the 
 strength of the generations which are yet to come. There 
 are many spots to which I might call your memory, as the 
 monuments of the good of former times — the bright spots 
 of Modern History. Recollections of Samuel Johnson meet 
 us almost everywhere ; John Milton lies buried in St. Giles's 
 Church ; John Bunyan in Bunhill Fields ; John Wesley by 
 the City Road ; Oliver Cromwell under Tyburn Turnpike. 
 But there are two such places, which above all will occur 
 — two which are happily the most conspicuous objects to 
 every one in the whole metropolis — the sight of which we 
 can never lose — the Abbey of Westminster, the Cathedi-al of 
 St. Paul's. Each of them in itself is a study of Modern 
 History. Any one who goes through the tombs of those 
 magnificent churches, and asks himself who and what 
 were those whose remains are there interred — ^what they
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 371 
 
 did for England and the world — why they are buried within 
 those walls — would acquire a far more solid and lively 
 knowledge of English history than by reading many books 
 and hearing many lectures. But I confine myself to the 
 general fact. There you see what can and has been done 
 by the genius, the courage, the wisdom, the piety of 
 Englishmen in times past — there you may think what 
 may and ought to be done by the same means in times 
 future. It is now a little more than a year since the vast 
 majority, I doubt not, of those who now hear me witnessed 
 one of the most instructive, one of the most historical 
 scenes that this city and this nation has ever beheld. You 
 saw the long funeral procession defiling through park, and 
 street, and square, and strand ; you saw London turned into 
 a vast amphitheatre of gazing multitudes — of silent and 
 respectful mourners ; you saw the remains of England's 
 greatest soldier carried to his last resting-place beneath the 
 dome of St. Paul's. Such a sight was instructive, if only as 
 helping you to imagine and understand like events in former 
 times. But it is instructive also, as showing what one man 
 can do — what gratitude one man can earn — how much the 
 rough and simple virtues of a man devoted to his public duty 
 can avail against the evils and difficulties of his time. 
 
 It is no abrupt transition from the great and good men 
 who sleep in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's, to fix 
 your thoughts for a moment on those buildings themselves. 
 They are, as I have said, the most conspicuous edifices 
 of our city. Let us ask, as the concluding lesson which 
 London teaches us, what we may learn, as often as we look 
 on those noble towers or on that majestic dome. Look at 
 them well. Their outward aspect conveys, as in a parable, 
 one of the most important of all the truths that Modern 
 History can teach us. Nothing can be more unlike than 
 their forms, either in conception or execution. They re-
 
 372 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 present the two extremes of history and of architecture. 
 One is all Gothic, the offspring of mediaeval and romantic 
 ages — the masterpiece of bishops, and monks, and crusaders. 
 The other, though first founded in remote antiquity, yet 
 dates its fame from the time when the Reformers preached at 
 Paul's Cross ; and its present building is the highest result 
 of that style of classical architecture which was intro- 
 duced by the same causes that produced the Reformation, 
 and which a century later was carried into execution by 
 the great mechanical genius of Sir Christopher Wren. 
 There was a time when he who admired the Abbey 
 could have never dreamed of a building like St. Paul's ; or, 
 again, when he who admired St. Paul's, looked down with 
 contempt on the Abbey, as Gothic and barbarian. Such 
 prejudices have now passed away, and there is, I trust, no 
 one here present who has not the capacity to enjoy them, 
 and admire them, both. But what we feel with regard to 
 the different manifestations of beauty in architecture, this is 
 what History ought to teach us in regard to the different 
 manifestations of goodness and truth in men and in history. 
 You may remember the old proverb about robbing Peter to 
 pay Paul. That proverb took its first origin from the time 
 when the revenues of the Abbey of St. Peter, at Westmin- 
 ster, were transferred to the Cathedral of St. Paul, in 
 London. But it has a much more extensive application, of 
 which those two noble edifices may always serve to remind 
 us. There are a thousand ways in which we may be 
 tempted to rob Peter for paying Paul — or to rob Paul 
 for paying Peter. We are tempted to do so, if, as I said, 
 we refuse, in our admiration of one kind of beauty, to 
 recognise any beauty of another kind. We may be tempted 
 still more seriously to do so, if in our study of political or 
 religious questions, ancient or modern, past or present, we 
 insist on dwelling only on one side, and never looking at the
 
 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 373 
 
 other. This is, indeed, in the highest sense, robbing Peter 
 to pay Paul ; it is refusing to acknowledge that variety 
 of character, of taste, of opinion, which God himself has 
 forced upon us, not only in conunon history, but in the most 
 sacred history of all. St. Peter and St. Paul were both 
 alike apostles and servants of their common Lord, however 
 differing in much beside; and we shall read history to no 
 purpose if we cannot, in like manner, admire the various 
 forms of goodness in later times, acknowledging the mixture 
 of truth and error, of strength and of weakness, in each, 
 and the higher good in all. And to that higher good, each 
 in its different way, St. Peter's at Westminster, and St. 
 Paul's in London, point surely and truly, if we will but see 
 it. Their foundations are on the graves of the good and 
 wise of former ages ; but their massive structure — their 
 towering height — their majestic size — the Gothic pinnacles 
 of the one — the golden Cross of the other — remind us not 
 only of what is around us, but of Who is above us — remind 
 us of that Eternal Power, and Strength, and Wisdom, which 
 is above and beyond all the roar and turmoil of the wortd 
 below. 
 
 Such were the monuments which, of old, our fathers 
 reared to remind us of that Divine Presence. It may be that 
 such monuments will be reared no more; that the age for 
 erecting such outward memorials of the unseen world is past 
 and gone. Yet, if this be so, the more need to make the best of 
 what we have — the more need, above all, to endeavour to do 
 in our day, and in our way, what in their day and their way 
 our fathers did before us. When I think of the overwhelm- 
 ing greatness of this city, of which I spoke at the beginning 
 of my Lecture — ^when I look upon the faces of the rising 
 generation now gathered before me, it is impossible to be- 
 lieve that the noble works of Modern History are finished. 
 There are still needed, and there may still be achieved, for
 
 374 THE STUDY OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 London and for England, good deeds, as vast in dimension, 
 as grand in design, as Abbey or Cathedral that ever yet 
 were raised. Out of the vast masses of your and our poorer 
 brethren, through the examples and exertions of those whom 
 I am now addressing, the true Temple and Church of God 
 must be built up and renewed amongst us. In that great 
 work may you and all of us be enabled to bear a part, by 
 those only means which, under God, can accomplish it — by 
 those only means which History and Revelation alike enforce 
 upon us — by hope and humility, by patience and forbear- 
 ance, by the energy of Christian faith, and the comprehen- 
 siveness of Christian love. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 For most of the facts to which I have alluded, it is super- 
 fluous to refer to any more recondite source than Mr. 
 Cunningham's excellent "Handbook of London." Any one 
 who wishes to obtain a more general view of the city in 
 its successive stages may turn with advantage to Stow's 
 " Survey" and Pennant's " Account of London," to the 
 curious contemporary description of London in the twelfth 
 century by Fitzstephen, and to Mr. Macaulay's celebrated 
 Chapter on the State of Society in the first volume of 
 his "History of England."
 
 m^xM h% t]it mmt %\\\\ax. 
 
 LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS ARNOLD. 
 
 Published by B. Fellowes, Ludgate Street, London. 
 
 SERMONS AND ESSAYS ON THE APOSTOLICAL AGE. 
 
 Published by J. H. Parker, Oxford, and 377 Strand. 
 
 MEMOIR OF BISHOP STANLEY. 
 
 Published by J. Murray, Albemarle Street. 
 
 In the Press. 
 THE EPISTLES OF ST. PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS, 
 
 WITH NOTES AND ESSAYS. 
 Published by J. Murray, Albemarle Street.
 
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