ve lesser canons,
Fifty chaplains, and
Thirty vicars.

These were of the higher rank; there were innumerable others of lower
rank, such as the master of the singing-school, the binder, and the
translator. The brewer, in 1286, brewed 67,814 gallons, and the baker
baked about 40,000 loaves. This gives one a little idea of what it
meant to conduct a cathedral in those days of the all-powerful
Church."

Between the poor shops of Fleet Street, open many little passages, and
these lead into tiny courts and winding alleys. The entrance to one of
them is marked with the sign, "Wine Office Court." Directly off from
this narrow, dark alley stands the famous Cheshire Cheese, the only
genuine old-time tavern or "coffee-house" which still exists
unchanged. It is a little, low building, with quaint bow-window of
square panes.

"Why, we can't all get in there, can we?" laughed John, as Mrs. Pitt
stepped inside. The door is very small, and the hallway was so crowded
by curious visitors, and by jostling, pushing waiters, that it did not
seem possible for another person to enter. They managed, however, to
elbow their way through the crowd into the celebrated "coffee-room"
itself.

That "coffee-room" is splendid! The ceiling is very low, and the walls
are wainscoted in dark wood. Although the room is so small, there are
numerous long tables, and old-fashioned, high-backed settles. One
seat, in the corner farthest from the door, is marked with a little
tablet, telling us that there was Dr. Johnson's chosen place. Several
pictures of that noted gentleman adorn the walls. It always seems
very much out of keeping with the quaintness of the room, to find it
full of laughing, chattering Americans. A few quiet English clerks
come there for their noon meal, but the majority of the patrons of the
Cheshire Cheese are the tourists.

"There's nothing to do but to wait here until we can get seats," said
Mrs. Pitt; so they all remained standing in the middle of the floor,
directly in the path of the waiters, until finally some seats were
free, and they slid into one of the long benches which extend down
each side of the tables, placed endwise to the wall.

"Are you sorry you proposed coming here?" Mrs. Pitt asked Betty,
watching with amusement her crest-fallen face as she saw the soiled
linen, and untidy look of the entire table.

"Oh, no," Betty answered doubtfully, "only I guess people come here
more because Dr. Johnson did, than