[Illustration: LATIMER PREACHING BEFORE EDWARD VI. AT WESTMINSTER E. Gardner’s Collection.] At Paul’s Cross there was a preaching by some reverend divine: a crowd of women sat on benches listening; a few men were there, but it was in working hours. The preacher argued some difficult point of doctrine, comparing texts and turning over the leaves of his small brown Geneva Bible. I observed that his hearers listened with a critical air. “For fifty years,” said Stow, looking on with contempt, “they have been arguing and disputing on matters of doctrine and nothing settled yet; in the old time we were told what to believe, and we were stayed and comforted by our belief. These people prove one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow. They are pulled this way and that by the power of texts which they think they understand. Let us go into the Cathedral.” [Illustration: SOUTH FRONT OF BAYNARD’S CASTLE, ABOUT 1640] Outside, in the churchyard, everything was destroyed that formerly made the place venerable and beautiful: Pardon churchyard; the “Clochard;” the cloister with the Dance of Death; Sherrington’s Library; the college of the minor canons. Only Paul’s Cross remained. And the Cathedral, rising up alone and gaunt, bereft of her daughters, seemed mournful and lonely. “Perhaps,” said Stow, “a new church is wanted for the new Faith. St. Paul’s was not built for Protestants. They know not how to treat the church. Look at yonder fellows!” He pointed to two porters who bore boxes on their heads, and entering at the North doors tramped noisily through the Cathedral, going out at the South. “They have made a right of way, a short way, through the church. Saw one ever the like? Through the church itself!” We went in; the nave was a kind of noisy Exchange, yet not for merchants. It was full of people loudly talking of all kinds of business; ladies were there. “They make their assignations in the church,” said Stow. Gallants richly dressed swaggered up and down the middle aisle; servants stood waiting to be hired; scriveners had their stools and tables, and were busy writing letters; men disputed over their affairs, yea, and quarrelled loudly. The chancel was walled off and separated from the nave and transepts. The old glory had departed from the once splendid interior: of all the chapels, shrines, altars, chantries, paintings, lights, carved marbles, work in ivory, gold and silver, nothing was left. Only bare whitewashed walls and a few plain tombs; even the painted glass, wherever it could be reached, was broken. While we looked around the organ began to play; it was accompanied by other instruments, chiefly wind instruments. With the music ascended the voices of the choir, the pure sweet voices of the boys. My old guide’s eyes grew humid. “No,” he said, “they have not taken all away. The music remains with us, to remind us that Heaven is left although we have whitewashed the paintings that revealed its glories.”