de Sancto Mario, and his fine canopied tomb is a striking object on the north side of the nave.  Interesting, too, are the beautiful fourteenth-century tiles, some bearing the appropriate motto “Have Mynde”; and a very human note is struck in the mason’s marks, still to be seen in various parts of the building, especially around the staircase door in the south transept.  What these signs actually mean is unknown, but some authorities, notably Leader Scott in her work on Cathedral Builders, trace them through the Comacine Guild to the Roman Collegia.

In the south-east corner of the south transept, on the exterior of the church, is a “triple-arch”, which is thought to have been a doorway, and may have led to the “clerken-house”, the original habitation of the seven choristers and their master, but which was pulled down by de Cloune, Master of St. Cross in the fourteenth century, who also allowed other parts of the fabric to fall into a state of great dilapidation.  Here also, on the south side of the quadrangle, stood the original houses of Beaufort’s foundation, which were not pulled down until 1789.

No groups of buildings are in their way more charming or more impregnated with human associations than the famous episcopal foundation of St. Cross—­an asylum of peace and rest, comfort and repose, to those who find shelter within its ancient walls, and a standing monument to the memory of the pious Henry de Blois and the princely churchman, Cardinal Beaufort.  Winchester, like many an English city, would be shorn of much of its interest were this benevolent institution to be removed.  The general air of peace and quietude, the grass-bordered walks, the stately church, all contribute to convey an appeal which is almost sacred in its simple eloquence.  In the words of one who loved it well:  “No one can pass its threshold without feeling himself landed, as it were, in another age.  The ancient features of the building, the noble gateway, the quadrangle, the common refectory, the cloister, and, rising above all, the lofty and massive pile of the venerable church, the uniform garb and reverend mien of the aged brethren, the common provision for their declining years, the dole at the gatehouse, all lead back our thoughts to days when men gave their best to God’s honour, and looked on what was done to His poor as done to Himself, and were as lavish of architectural beauty on what modern habits might deem a receptacle for beggars, as on the noblest of royal palaces.  It seems a place where no worldly thought, no pride, or passion, or irreverence could enter; a spot where, as a modern writer has beautifully expressed it, a good man, might he make his choice, would wish to die.”

The country around this beautiful city by the Itchen is full of quiet charm, for life’s ever-changing drama has but one and the same background.  The actors come and go, but the stage remains much the same, and the devotions, the meditations, and the acts of men who lived centuries ago were set in the amphitheatre of the same green hills, and took place beside the same winding river as those we gaze upon to-day.