ateway was shocked and grieved to see the reverend canons running
beneath the arch bloody and miry, rent and torn, carrying their
complaint to the Bishop and then to the King at Westminster. After
which there was much contention, and the whole city rose and would
have torn the Archbishop into small pieces, shouting, "Where is this
ruffian? that cruel smiter!" and much else that must have frightened
and astonished Master Boniface and made him wish that he had never set
foot in England, but stayed quietly in peaceful Provence.

But this gateway loved to look upon the great fair that took place on
the Feast of St. Bartholomew. This was granted to Rahere the Prior and
to the canons and continued for seven centuries, until the abuses of
modern days destroyed its character and ended its career. The scene of
the actual fair was within the priory gates in the churchyard, and
there during the three days of its continuance stood the booths and
standings of the clothiers and drapers of London and of all England,
of pewterers, and leather-sellers, and without in the open space
before the priory were tents and booths and a noisy crowd of traders,
pleasure-seekers, friars, jesters, tumblers, and stilt-walkers. This
open space was just outside the turreted north wall of the city, and
was girt by tall elms, and near it was a sheet of water whereon the
London boys loved to skate when the frost came. It was the city
playground, and the city gallows were placed there before they were
removed to Tyburn. This dread implement of punishment stood under the
elms where Cow Lane now runs: and one fair day brave William Wallace
was dragged there in chains at the tails of horses, bruised and
bleeding, and foully done to death after the cruel fashion of the age.
All this must have aged the heart of the old gateway, and especially
the sad sight of the countless burials that took place in the year of
the Plague, 1349, when fifty thousand were interred in the burial
ground of the Carthusians, and few dared to attend the fair for fear
of the pestilence.

Other terrible things the gateway saw: the burning of heretics. Not
infrequently did these fires of persecution rage. One of the first of
these martyrs was John Bedley, a tailor, burnt in Smithfield in 1410.
In Fox's _Book of Martyrs_ you can see a woodcut of the burning of
Anne Ascue and others, showing a view of the Priory and the crowd of
spectators who watched the poor lady die. Not many days afte