d long enough to tread
the same boards as Garrick, whose grave is just below; she predeceased
the younger actor by ten years. Only one actress, Ann Oldfield, who
belonged to an earlier generation (she flourished in the beginning of the
eighteenth century), was buried actually within the Abbey; a woman of no
character but of some talent, she lies near the Deanery door in the nave.
We must not forget, when we reach St. Andrew's Chapel, to point out the
colossal statues of Mrs. Siddons and her brother, John Kemble, upon whose
shoulders fell the mantles of Mrs. Barry and Garrick, and who carried on
the old traditions at Drury Lane and Covent Garden during the first
quarter of the nineteenth century.

We have digressed from our beaten path to follow after the lights of the
theatrical profession, and shall afterwards find other well-known players
in the cloisters. A glance round, as we stand in the western part of the
transept, shows that we are {46} literally surrounded by familiar faces
and much-loved authors. Of Addison we speak later, so may pass over his
very inferior statue (by Westmacott), but just beyond we see the busts of
Lord Macaulay and of Thackeray, and the medallion heads of Sir Walter
Scott and of John Ruskin; below them is the grave of Charles Dickens.
The lovers of music raise their eyes meantime to the unwieldy figure of
Handel, whose personality remained essentially German although the
greater part of his life was spent in England, at the Court of the first
three Georges. Beneath his monument is the medallion of that gifted
singer Jenny Lind Goldschmidt, placed there as a record of the many
occasions when the Swedish nightingale interpreted Handel's beautiful
music to the British public in a manner never excelled before or since.
Close to us now is a reminder of the old monastic days--the door which
leads into an ancient chapel used by the brethren as a vestry, and in the
floor before it is the grave of Abbot Litlington, to whom we have alluded
before and of whom we shall speak again. Near his is that of a humble
monk, one Owen Tudor, who took sanctuary during the Wars of the Roses,
and probably lived to see his nephew, Henry Tudor, on the English throne.
Above the {47} door Oliver Goldsmith's name recalls the early days of the
English novel, when the _Vicar of Wakefield_ was one of the very few in
existence. Many of us have enjoyed his inimitable comedy, _She Stoops to
Conquer_, on the stage, as well