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slumbering dead, and lay the foundation of their bridges low down amongst the mouldering relics of poor mortality. One thing appeared evident to us, that the monuments nearest a church are the ones to suffer when the time for restoration comes. Were I to choose my last resting-place in a country churchyard, I would select some retired spot well away from the sacred edifice, where I might chance to rest undisturbed and unmolested, and not have my simple monument damaged or destroyed when the church was restored or enlarged.

Extra Long Miles-A Quaint Conceit-Canterbury and CathedralEcclesiastical Tyranny-A Scene for a Pilgrim-An Old English Inn-Old-fashioned Comfort-A Typical Waiter-The First Christian Church in Britain-An American at an English Shrine-A Group of Old-time Buildings-A Quaint Sign-The Isle of Thanet -Birchington and its Bungalows-West Gate-A Chat with an Old Soldier-A Crop of Indian Corn-Underground BuildingsRamsgate.

RETURNING to our homely inn, we ordered our horses to be put to, and once more proceeded on our journey. Before we started we asked the landlady the distance to Canterbury. It's six long miles,' she answered, laying particular stress upon the adjective. 'What, are the miles longer in this part of the world than elsewhere?' we demanded. 'Well, they are to Canterbury,' was the innocent reply, 'because you see they are hilly ones.' She forcibly reminded us of the Scotsman who, in a heated discussion with an Englishman as to the relative sizes of their two countries, said, 'Eh! man, but ye ken if old Scotland were just rolled out level

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she'd be as big as England.' As to hilliness, the miles we found to be all that the old woman said; but hilly roads, as in this case, generally mean beautiful scenery, therefore, because ours possessed this desirable merit, we little troubled ourselves about the unevenness of the way.

Though not marked on our map, we did pass through a small hamlet before we reached Canterbury. Here we observed a wayside public-house with its sign projecting from the gabled roof in a curious fashion. Then we came to a church standing close to the road, showing the extreme contrasts of the sturdy Norman and the lightsome, graceful Early English work; but what especially attracted our attention in this structure was the quaint conceit it possessed in the shape of a vane, cunningly designed so as to resemble a bird just alighting: so realistic was this, so excellent the deception, that as we first saw it, dark against the sky, we could not for the moment decide whether it was an actual bird we were looking at or merely an imitation one. Of course, owing to the fact of the bird not moving, the truth was soon revealed, but anything more cunningly devised to deceive the casual observer from a distance we had never come across. The quaint conception is worthy of the ancient Gothic designers, so skilfully and fancifully is it carried out, so does it breathe of the spirit of the mediaval times.

Then, at the last rise of our last hill, we came in sight of Canterbury down in the valley below us. We had a grand and comprehensive view of the ancient

city, with the noble old cathedral proudly dominating all, the very embodiment in stone of the pasttime ecclesiastical supremacy. Ecclesiastical supre

macy I have said, for was not Canterbury typical of this? Were not its archbishops called 'Popes of a second world'? And, whoever might be King of England, did they not take most excellent care to be kings in England? In the struggle for the mastery between Henry II. and Thomas à Becket, do we not read that the king, two years after the murder of that tyrannical priest, came to Canterbury to do penance in expiation for that crime and sacrilege,' and how that, in the garb of a penitent pilgrim, bare-footed, he walked through the streets of the city, the rough stones of which were marked by the blood that started from his wounded feet'?-how, arriving at the cathedral, he knelt upon the pavement in the transept where the arrogant archbishop had fallen, the spot being called the Martyrdom, after which he was led by his priestly persecutors into the crypt, and taken to the tomb; then, the rough garment he wore having been removed, 'he received five strokes from each bishop and abbot who was present, beginning with Foliot, Bishop of London, and three from each of the eighty monks'? Afterwards he passed the whole night in the crypt fasting, resting only against one of the rude Norman pillars, on the bare ground, with bare feet still unwashed from the muddy streets.' This did a King

of England, and a Plantagenet too! mutantur nos et mutamur in illis.

But, tempora The times truly

have changed. No longer now monarchs go to

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Canossa; and deeds of expiation are not in fashion. Penances and pilgrimages, saints and shrines—a critical age will have none of them. Sacerdotal tyranny, the worst of all, is a thing of the past. So great, indeed, did the memory of Becket become, that Lambard relates that the name of Christ was cleane forgotten, and the cathedral itself was called the Churche of S. Thomas ye Martyr.'

Still, in spite of change, now as of old, the cathedral towers of Canterbury, grey with years, rise proudly over the buildings around, as though their very foundations were laid upon them. It must have been an impressive one, this view of the sacred edifice that the pilgrims of the past had from this spot. Only from a distance can one realise the true greatness and magnificence of this structure; it is too confined with buildings near around to be comprehended close at hand. Looking at it thus, you can only see portions of it at a time, its full majesty is not manifest; from afar off it seems a very mountain in stone, dwarfing into utter insignificance the puny dwellings below-a miracle in architecture!

It was an impressive view we had of the cathedral, the three stately towers of the ancient fane rising grandly upwards out from the city, which was half hidden in the blue-grey haze of smoke and the gathering gloom of twilight, for the day had grown old, and it was then near the hour of evensong.' The towers, a solemn grey in shade, had their sides gilded by the rays of the setting sun; all else below was vaguely undefined, excepting where a window here and there caught the golden glow from above,