"The place is much despoiled," said the antiquary, "since the days of the old religion. Many things have been taken down which formerly beautified the church-yard. For instance, on this very spot, covered now with dwelling-houses and shops, was the Charnel Chapel, as old as King Edward the First. It was a chapel of the Blessed Virgin. Sir Richard Whittington endowed it with a chaplain. There were two brotherhoods; its crypt was filled with bones; the chapel was filled with monuments. One would have thought that reverence for the bones would have sufficed to preserve the chapel. But no. It was in the reign of Edward the Sixth, when everything was destroyed. The Duke of Somerset pulled down the chapel. The bones he caused to be placed in carts--they made a thousand loads--and to be carried to Finsbury Fields, where they were thrown out and strewn around--a pitiful spectacle. Beside the Charnel Chapel was the Chapel of the Holy Ghost, served by the seven chaplains of Holme's College, on the south side of the church-yard. That, too, was destroyed. But most of all I lament the destruction of the Pardon Church-yard. Truly this was one of the wonders of London. There stands the plot of ground, a garden now for the minor canons, but formerly a cloister wherein were buried many persons of worship, and some of honor, whose monuments were of curious workmanship. Round the cloister was painted a dance of death, commonly called the Dance of Paul's, with verses by John Lydgate, done at the dispense of John Carpenter. Over the east quadrant was a fair library, given by Walter Sherrington, chancellor to Henry the Sixth; and in the cloister was a chapel, built by the father of Thomas à Becket, who lay buried there. Of such antiquity was this beautiful and venerable place. Neither its age nor its beauty could save it. Nor could the lesson concerning the presence of death, in this lively portraiture, save it. Down it must come, and now there remains but two or three old men like myself who can remember the Dance of Paul's. Well, the figure of death is gone, but death himself we cannot drive away. There is Paul's Cross." He pointed to an edifice at the north-east angle of the transept. I looked with curiosity at this historical edifice, which was smaller, as all historical things are, than one expected. It was made of timber, mounted upon steps of stone, and covered with lead. There was room in it for three or four persons; a low wall was built round it. A venerable man was preaching to a small congregation, who sat on wooden benches to listen.