Surely no place can be more crowded with memories than busy, “roaring London,” and nowhere are the past and present so unexpectedly brought together. The City is full of surprises to those who have leisure to wander among its narrow, crowded streets. The quiet little graveyards afford many of these telling contrasts. Suddenly, in the busiest thoroughfares, where a constant stream of men are walking by every weekday, come these quiet little back-waters. In many cases the churches themselves have vanished, or only remain in part. St. Mary’s Staining is one of these, so hidden away that one might walk along Fenchurch Street hundreds of times and never find it. The approach is by a very narrow alley, at the end of which is this quiet little graveyard, where, among other worthies, reposes Sir Arthur Savage, knighted at Cadiz in 1596. The church, all except the tower, was destroyed in the Great Fire, and never rebuilt. The picturesque old tower stands in the centre of this little plot, which now forms the garden of the Clothworkers’ Company, whose hall opens on to one side of it. Another church which perished in the Fire and was never rebuilt is St. Olave’s, Hart Street, but its churchyard remains, and a few large tombs stand in a small garden with seats, where at all times of the year some weary wayfarers are resting. Another such graveyard where the burnt church was not restored is at the corner of Wood Street and Cheapside. The old tree inside the closed railings may have inspired the lark to carol so joyously as to call up the “vision of poor Susan.”