ed three chantries. The Haugh was environed by a
cloister, and the tombs in this part traditionally exceeded, both in
number and workmanship, those in the cathedral, but this is all we
know about them. In the cloister was the picture of the Dance of
Death. Death, represented by a skeleton, leading away all sorts and
conditions of mankind, beginning with Pope and Emperor. The
accompanying verse of Dean John Lydgate, monk of Bury (or his
translation from the French), was as gruesome as the picture.
Somewhere here the Petty Canons had their common hall. Near the
cloister, and on the east side, was Walter Sheryngton's Library; and
adjacent to the north-west corner of the neighbouring transept, his
chapel with its two chantries. East of the Haugh and about opposite
the north point of the transept, was the =Charnel=, a chapel with a
warden and three chantries. Underneath was a crypt or vault for the
decent reception of any bones that might be disinterred, and hence the
name.

[Illustration: ST. PAUL'S CROSS.
_From an Engraving in Wilkinson's "Londina Illustrata," after the
picture in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries,
London._]

We have now arrived at the north side of the transept, and inside the
angle formed by chancel and transept stood =Paul's Cross=, in St.
Faith's parish. It was an octagon of some thirty-seven feet, and stood
about twelve feet from the old cathedral. Mr. Penrose excavated for
the site, and found it just at the north-east angle of the present
choir. The last structure--of wood on a stone foundation, and with an
open roof--was the gift of Thomas Kemp; but a pulpit cover existed in
1241. Above the roof rose the cross from which the name was derived;
and from 1595 the whole was surrounded by a low brick wall, at the
gate of which a verger was stationed. Against the choir wall was a
gallery of two tiers: in the upper was the projecting royal box or
closet, below the Lord Mayor's; and the parishioners of St. Faith had
a right to seats. In very bad weather an adjournment was made to the
crypt; but our sturdy forefathers endured alike stress of weather,
length of discourse, and undiluted frankness of speech, after a manner
that altogether puts us, their degenerate descendants, to shame.

From a rude picture, painted in 1620 at the instance of Henry Farley,
we can see the preacher for the day with a sand-glass at his right
hand. King James, in his state box, has his Queen on his right,