Pepys and his pretty wife are both buried in their parish church of St. Olave’s. Mrs. Pepys died when she was only twenty-nine, and though he had teased the jealousy of “my wife, poor wretch,” Pepys ordered her bust to be carved, not in the usual profile, but with the lovely head turned so that he could see [Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON. BYWARD TOWER] it from where he sat in his gallery pew on the other side of the church. There are other interesting things to be seen at St. Olave’s: the doorway to the old churchyard that Dickens-lovers will recognise from his description in the _Uncommercial Traveller_, the carved pulpit and quaint vestry and several fine old monuments, and, as I mentioned before, part of the old Roman wall. If you have no passion for discovering bits of ancient walls, there are other more beautiful things near the bottom of Seething Lane. One of them is very new, so new that when I saw it all the scaffolding had not been removed from the buildings at its base--I mean the great tower of the Port of London Authority. I hear that Sir Joseph E. Broodbank has just written a fascinating _History of the Port of London_, that will waken everyone who has three guineas to spare to the interest of London’s immense docks and the organisation that has power over seventy miles of the Thames. The beautiful tower of the new buildings, with its fine groups of statuary, is worth a special pilgrimage to see. It is not very far from Trinity House, that unique institution that, as Mr. Cunningham says, has for its object “the increase and encouragement of navigation, the regulation of lighthouses and sea marks, and the general management of matters not immediately connected with the Admiralty.” The Guild of Trinity House was founded in 1529 by Sir Thomas Spert, Henry VIII.’s Controller of the Navy and commander of the magnificent four-master, the _Harry Grace de Dieu_, which took the King to Calais on his way to the Field of the Cloth of Gold. You can see exactly what it looked like in the picture of Henry VIII.’s embarkation at Dover that hangs in Hampton Court Palace. One of the delusions I have had when hastening through the streets of London filled with excitement at the thought of seeing some ancient place associated with more colourful days than our own, was caused by Mr. Wagner’s enticing account of the Crooked Billet in his fascinating book on old London inns.