the familiar subject is distinctly original, in which respect, as
well as in colouring, it presents a very striking contrast to the
other windows, especially to those of mediaeval character, throughout
the church. Perhaps it is fortunate that it occupies an isolated
position in the chapel, where the brilliance and peculiarity of the
colouring are seen to full advantage without detriment to the other
windows.

It is hoped that this generous gift inaugurates the restoration of the
old chapel to its original dignity, as a worthy memorial to him whose
name will henceforth be inseparable from it. The intention is to equip
it with an altar and other necessary fittings for use at early
celebrations and small gatherings of people, at present without
accommodation. A new vestry for the clergy is badly wanted, as well as
for the choir, whose cassocks and surplices now hang in the adjacent
aisle.

The =South Choir Aisle= is lighted by a small lancet above the
entrance porch representing the Good Shepherd; by another lancet to
the memory of John Herd, an inhabitant; and by a window of three
lights. The last commemorates George Gwilt, the distinguished
architect who did so much for the restoration of 1832-3, elsewhere
described.

Two tablets in the same aisle are worth noticing. The first is a
brass, dated 1652, on the pier between the choir and aisle entrance,
in memory of Susanna Barford, who died at the early age of ten years
and thirteen weeks. The inscription quotes her as, "The Non-such of
the world for Piety and Vertue in soe tender years." Below these words
there is an epitaph in rhyming couplets and complimentary terms,
separated from the inscription by a death's head and crossbones, and a
pair of wings supporting an hourglass, on the dexter and sinister
sides respectively. This is the only brass with any approach to
antiquity in the Cathedral, though the matrix of another, evidently
thought more worthy of a private collection, has been detected in one
of the recesses, lately described, in the opposite aisle. The other
memorial is a plain marble slab, scarcely seen in the darkness between
the windows. It commemorates Abraham Newland, the model chief cashier
of the Bank of England, whose strict notions of duty would not allow
him to sleep a single night off the premises during the twenty-five
years of his appointment. He died in 1807, two months after taking his
pension, leaving L60,000, in the funds, to his landlady. Th