“Ho Richard! Dick Hopple!” cried one of these prentices to an acquaintance across the street. “Cast thy gaze upon his worship and the little worshipfuls going to Paule’s to buy a sixtieth.” This was an allusion to the lottery under royal patronage which was conducted in a booth set up in the churchyard of the cathedral. It attracted many countrymen to the capital, who could generally afford to purchase no more than a fractional share, perhaps one-tenth, of a ticket. “Peace boy!” said Doctor Hollister, sternly. “Honorificabilitudinitatibus!” glibly replied the lad with a mock obeisance. This extraordinary word, which Shakespeare had put into the mouth of one of his characters, caught the fancy of the London populace as a similar verbal monstrosity--Cryptoconcodycyphernostamata--did about twenty-five years ago. Doctor Hollister had the greatest difficulty in restraining the boys from replying to these gibes with their fists and Jack, in particular, begged earnestly to be permitted to “lay just one of them by the heels.” But the Doctor had been a chorister of Paule’s in his boyhood and he knew the formidable character of the London apprentices and how, at the cry of “Clubs! Clubs!” they would swarm with their staves to the aid of one of their number. Presently they came to the great cathedral, and were surprised to find that the holy edifice was used as a public thoroughfare, even animals being driven across its nave, whilst hawkers displayed their wares around the columns and gallants and gossips lounged about on the seats--all this, too, during the celebration of divine service. The lads who had been brought up in reverence of their country church were shocked at the sights around them and little disposed to linger in the building. Leaving the churchyard of the cathedral, Doctor Hollister led the way down Dowgate Hill to the water front, wishing to afford the boys sight of two unusually interesting buildings. One of these was Baynard Castle, of which mention has already been made, but the other had the greater attraction for Jack on account of being the residence of his hero, Sir Francis Drake. It had formerly been known as Eber House, when it was the palace of Warwick, the “Kingmaker,” whom you will remember as the titular character of “The Last of the Barons.” Later the place was occupied by that “false, fleeting, perjured Clarence” whose dream is one of the most impressive passages in Shakespeare’s tragedy, Richard the Third. Passing Westminster and the little village of Charing Cross, our travelers came upon the Palace of Whitehall fronting upon the Thames and with Saint James’s Park at its back. In Elizabeth’s time this royal residence was the scene of such splendid entertainments as marked its occupancy by her father, Henry the Eighth. At this period it stood outside of London on the outskirts of what was the distinct city of Westminster.