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 the country is interesting and full of character, and would even probably be pronounced beautiful by a Dutchman!

So by "indirect, crooked ways" we reached Frampton, an out-of-the-world village, a spot where one might go in search of peace when

weary of men's voices and their tread, Of clamouring bells and whirl of wheels that pass.

It seemed a place so very remote from "the busy haunts of men." It impressed us with its restful calm. Here by the side of the road stood its ancient and picturesque church,—we had seen enough churches that day to last for a whole tour, but somehow this rural fane so charmed us that we felt we could not pass it by without a glance; and it was well we did not, for here we made one of the most interesting discoveries of our journey. Strolling round the graveyard in search of any curious epitaph we noticed the quaint carving of a grotesque head on a buttress of the north wall of the building. Upon closer inspection we further discovered a puzzling inscription beneath this, which we made out to be as follows:—

Wot ye whi i stond Here for i forswor mi fat Ego Ricardus in Angulo.

We made out the inscription without difficulty, all but the last word of the second line, which appears to begin "fat," but the next letter or letters are undecipherable. We hazarded a guess that the