village does not stand on a hill, but the church which is at some
distance, stands on one, or rather on a hillock. And it is probable from
the circumstance of the church standing on a hillock, that the parish
derives its name. Towards the church after a slight glance at the
village, I proceeded with hasty steps, and was soon at the foot of the
hillock. A house, that of the clergyman, stands near the church, on the
top of the hill. I opened a gate, and entered a lane which seemed to
lead up to the church.

As I was passing some low buildings, probably offices pertaining to the
house, a head was thrust from a doorway, which stared at me. It was a
strange hirsute head, and probably looked more strange and hirsute than
it naturally was, owing to its having a hairy cap upon it.

"Good day," said I.

"Good day, sar," said the head, and in a moment more a man of middle
stature, about fifty, in hairy cap, shirt-sleeves, and green apron round
his waist, stood before me. He looked the beau-ideal of a servant of all
work.

"Can I see the church?" said I.

"Ah, you want to see the church," said honest Scrub. "Yes, sar! you
shall see the church. You go up road there past church--come to house,
knock at door--say what you want--and nice little girl show you church.
Ah, you quite right to come and see church--fine tomb there and clebber
man sleeping in it with his wife, clebber man that--Owen Tiddir; married
great queen--dyn clebber iawn."

Following the suggestions of the man of the hairy cap I went round the
church and knocked at the door of the house, a handsome parsonage. A
nice little servant-girl presently made her appearance at the door, of
whom I inquired whether I could see the church.

"Certainly, sir," said she; "I will go for the key and accompany you."

She fetched the key and away we went to the church. It is a venerable
chapel-like edifice, with a belfry towards the west; the roof sinking by
two gradations, is lower at the eastern or altar end, than at the other.
The girl, unlocking the door, ushered me into the interior.

"Which is the tomb of Tudor?" said I to the pretty damsel.

"There it is, sir," said she, pointing to the north side of the church;
"there is the tomb of Owen Tudor."

Beneath a low-roofed arch lay sculptured in stone on an altar tomb, the
figures of a man and woman; that of the man in armour; that of the woman
in graceful drapery. The male figure lay next the wall.

"And you