's reign, and was made prebend of
Canterbury, at which place he died at the age of sixty-three. Covehithe
nowadays is not interesting so much as the birthplace of Bale, as on
account of its ecclesiastical ruins, which are covered with ivy and
venerable in their decay. The church was evidently almost a cathedral,
and surely at one time or other there must have been an enormous
population to worship in such a sanctuary; and yet all you see now is a
public-house just opposite the church, a few cottages, and a farmhouse.
A few steps farther bring you to the low cliff, and there is the sea ever
encroaching on the land in that quarter and swallowing up farmhouse and
farm. Miss Agnes Strickland, who lived at Reydon Hall--a few miles
inland--has thus sung the melancholy fate of Covehithe:

'All roofless now the stately pile,
And rent the arches tall,
Through which with bright departing smile
The western sunbeams fall.

* * * * *

'Tradition's voice forgets to tell
Whose ashes sleep below,
And Fancy here unchecked may dwell,
And bid the story flow.'

Ah! what was that story? How the question puzzled my young head, as I
walked in the sandy lane that led from my native village! How
insignificant looked the little church built up inside! What had become
of the crowds that at one time must have filled that ancient fane? How
was it that no trace of them remained? They had vanished in the
historical age, and yet no one could tell how or when. Nature was, then,
stronger than man. He was gone, but the stars glittered by night and the
sun shone by day, and the ivy had spread its green mantle over all. Yes!
what was man, with his pomp and glory, but dust and ashes, after all!
How I loved to go to Covehithe and climb its ruins, and dream of the
distant past!

Here in that eastern point of England it seemed to me there was a good
deal of decay. Sometimes, on a fine summer day, we would take a boat and
sail from the pretty little town of Southwold, about four miles from
Wrentham, to Dunwich, another relic of the past. According to an old
historian, it was a city surrounded with a stone wall having brazen
gates; it had fifty-two churches, chapels, and religious houses; it also
boasted hospitals, a huge palace, a bishop's seat, a mayor's mansion, and
a Mint. Beyond it a forest appears to have extended some miles into what
is now the sea. One of