ll the fashion.
We turn from this with pleasure to the fine bust of Richard Kane, which
is against the opposite wall, and single him out for a passing mention on
account of his connection, as Governor, with the Island of Minorca, one
of "the lost possessions" of England.

Facing us now, as we make our way westward, is the seated figure of Sir
Fowell Buxton, and a little further to the left Joseph's extraordinarily
vivid but unpleasing figure of William Wilberforce. Both men are
indissolubly connected in our minds with the abolition of Slavery. With
them are associated the pioneer of the anti-slavery agitation, Granville
Sharp, and their fellow-worker, Zachary, father of Lord Macaulay.
Sharp's tablet is not far from the latter's bust in the south transept,
and we have already noticed the elder Macaulay in the Whigs' Corner.
Between the philanthropists is Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of
Singapore, a man no less zealous than they in the struggle for the
suppression of slavery. To us Londoners his name {118} must ever be
dear, for we owe the Zoological Gardens to his initiative.

We are standing now in the aisle dedicated to the memory of that great
English composer, Henry Purcell, and thus often called the "Musicians'
Aisle," although the memorials to musicians are comparatively few.
Purcell's modest tablet with the well-known epitaph, "Here lyes Henry
Purcell, Esq., who left this life, and is gone to that blessed place,
where only his harmony can be exceeded," hangs against the pillar near
Raffles. We passed a modern one hard by to Balfe, a composer of many
popular ballads; while on the north wall are the monuments of Purcell's
master, Dr. Blow, who first preceded and then succeeded his young pupil
at the Abbey organ, and Dr. Croft, who followed after Blow. Stones in
the floor mark the graves of Dr. Samuel Arnold, another Abbey organist,
and Sterndale Bennett, who is considered by some authorities worthy to
rank with Purcell as a musical composer. A tablet to Dr. Burney detains
us for a moment, while we remind the lovers of literature in our party of
his daughter, the novelist, Fanny Burney, and of their friendship with
Dr. Johnson, whose grave we saw in Poets' Corner. Other memorials,
chiefly those to sailors, are upon this {119} wall, but we cannot tarry
much longer, our friends are craving mercy for tired brains and aching
limbs. Just before the iron gate the portrait medallion of Charles
Darwin, which is