apartments, so I write having some experience in the matter. On one occasion our stay was for eight weeks, and on another for six, and friends of mine have also tried the same experiment, and the result in each case has been an unqualified success. At one farmhouse where I was, the tenant confessed to me that he found by letting apartments one year he received the full amount of his rent; he owned that neither himself nor his wife liked the idea at all at first, but he had been fortunate in always having pleasant people, and now he rather enjoyed the change of having visitors-they interested him. Thus out of evil some good may come.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Sudbury-The Head of Archbishop Simon-A Gruesome Sight— Quaint Tombstones-The Restorer again-An aged Clerk-Oldfashioned Farming-Spoiling Scenery-Iron Buildings-Past-time Customs-A Round Church--Halstead-An Old Warrior's Shield -Names of Places on Maps-A Charming Village-Thatched Cottages-A half-timbered Home.

WANDERING about the old-fashioned town of Sudbury we espied a photographer's shop and stepped therein in quest of local views. Looking over a quantity of prints our attention was arrested by one showing what appeared to be a decapitated head set up in a recess of a wall. Our curiosity was aroused by this weird and strange picture, and we asked for particulars about it. We were told that it was the head of Archbishop Simon of Sudbury, who was put to death by the rebels under Wat Tyler, and that it was preserved exactly as represented in the photograph in the vestry of St. Gregory's Church. We at once determined to see the ghastly relic, and the photographer kindly permitted his little girl to go with us to point out where the clerk lived, for, said he, it's not always easy for a stranger to discover the clerk'— the truth of which statement we fully endorsed from former experience in clerk-seeking. We gladly.

therefore, accepted the thoughtful offer, and the civil photographer's eight-year-old daughter was rewarded for her trouble with a shilling.

The clerk, a poor old man, was at home, and at once got the keys and hobbled with us to the church as fast as his crippled legs would allow. He told us that he was hard of hearing,' which was manifest, and further informed us that his father was born a hundred and two years ago. Yes, sir, my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather have all been sextons here'―of which fact he seemed very proud.

We were taken at once to the vestry, and, opening a little cupboard in the wall, there the clerk showed us the shrivelled head of the Archbishop-and a gruesome sight it was, with the ears and skin upon it dried up like parchment, looking even more ghastly than that of an Egyptian mummy. The head had been recently varnished by a local doctor, so we were informed, the better to preserve it. Below it, in puzzling old English letters, is the following inscription, which I have faithfully transcribed, omitting only one word difficult to decipher :

The Head of Simon Theobald who was born at Sudbury.. R'thenn called Simon of Sudbury. He was sent when but a Youth into fforeign Parts to Study the Civil Law. Whereof he was made Doctor. He visited most of the Universities of ffrans. was made Chaplain to Pope Innocent and Auditor Rota, a Judge of the Roman Court. By interest of this Pope he was made Chancellor of Salisbury. In the Year 1361 he was consecrated Bishop of London, and in the Year 1375 was translated to the See of Canterbury and made Chancellor of England. while he was Bishop of London he Built the upper part of St. Gregory's in Sudbury: and where his ffather's House Stood he erected a College of Secular Priests and endowed it with the Yearly Revenue of one Hundred

AN ARCHBISHOP BEHEADED.

329

Twenty-two Pounds eighteen shillings, and was at length
barbarously Beheaded upon Tower Hill in London by the
Rabble in Wat Tyler's Rebellion in the Reign of
Richard 2d 1382.

The body of the unfortunate Archbishop lies beneath an altar-tomb in Canterbury Cathedral. It seemed to us a pity that his head is not allowed to rest in peace there also, instead of being made a sort of vulgar peepshow of, to gratify idle curiosity. The day for relics has gone by.

St. Gregory's Church, which stands upon the site of an earlier Saxon one of wood, possesses many ancient and curious tomb-slabs. The clerk, who, in spite of his age and infirmities, manifestly took a great interest and pride in the church, pointed out some of these to us, one half hidden under matting, and another wholly hidden under the organ.. He told us that several of the memorial slabs had been removed from the chancel when it was restored, in order, we presumed, to make room for the trumpery modern tiles that now have place there. Probably it was then that the old roof was painted a crude blue, and adorned (save the mark!) with gilt stars.

Perhaps the finest of these memorials to the longdeparted dead is one consisting of a large grey stone slab, with a deep recess, evidently in times past containing a brass. This stone has been much worn by the overflow of water from the piscina-such, at least, the clerk told us, was the opinion of certain antiquaries who had inspected it. Then we were shown another slab, the matrix upon which exhibits a mitre in outline; this, therefore, we judged, had contained

an exceedingly fine brass to a bishop, but who the bishop was there is nothing now left to show. Then we had pointed out to us what we were told was a very curious and beautifully engraved slab; but this being more or less hidden by the deal flooring of the organ, we were unable to judge of its merits; the clerk, however, said, 'That be to the father and mother of the man whose head I showed you in the vestry." What authority he had for this statement I know

not.

Then we were taken to the outside of the church and shown still another ancient stone slab, with the matrix of a very fine brass thereon, which matrix indicates that the brass was of a man and a woman. This interesting stone was removed from the chancel and turned out into the churchyard at the time of the restorations, and is now fast being worn smooth by the frequent tread of worshippers. You see, sir,' remarked the clerk philosophically, it baint much use being a great somebody after you're dead.'

In the churchyard here is a tombstone, bearing the date of 1706, to a certain Thomas Carter: ‘A Sudbury camel that passed through the eye of a needle.

From Sudbury we made our way to Halstead, our road leading us through a very pretty country. No observant person can travel through rural England without perceiving that important changes are gradually but surely taking place therein. Of old the country community was roughly divided into three main classes: the landlord, the tenant farmer,