With the memory of this delightful incident, so gracious and refreshing after the blood-stained relation of the earlier portion of our little narrative, we take our leave of this garner of the departed Arundells, and, seeking once more the rapid convenience of the iron road, are passing swiftly homeward. As the train glides rapidly by the little station of Sutton-Bingham, we remember that not far from this, another and almost unique trace of Arundell of Cornwall is to be found. At about a mile's distance is the village of East-Coker, and in the south transept window of its church are two antient shields of painted glass side by side, on one are the arms of the See of Exeter, on the other quarterly, Arundell and Carminow. These are the arms of John Arundell, Bishop of Exeter, who presided over the diocese two years, died 19 Feb., 1506, and was buried in the church of St. Clement Danes, London, and, as far as we have knowledge, is the only trace of memorial existing to him. Once more the career of the subject of our little narrative returns to us. All appears to have gone well with him, even among the perils with which he was environed during the reign of Henry VIII. It may be, the instant danger of giving offence to the wishes or inclinations of that capricious tyrant kept him in the path of caution and safety. But when that king's baby son assumed the reins of sovereignty this terror had disappeared, and men were busily vieing with each other as to whom,--professedly under the little king,--should really rule the destinies of the nation. Sir Thomas now appears to have taken action, and identified himself with one side of the contending factions, not prominently, but sufficiently marked to make him a subject of suspicion--to say nothing beyond--with those he was presumed to differ from, and this on an adverse emergency was a position of considerable peril. So it turned out, for in the end his death appears to have been resolved on, not because his offence was easily proved, or that he deserved such punishment, but as a makeweight, to give the colour of complicity, and so justify the death of Somerset, by the execution of himself, and that of others, thereby inferring the plot was a real one, and of dangerous extent. If so,--and circumstances seem strongly to confirm this view,--his was altogether a hard fate; it is difficult indeed, to imagine a harder one. "SICUT PULLUS HIRUNDINIS SIC CLAMABO." Even Thine altars!--there my soul shall flee-- O Lord of Hosts! and as a swallow come On quivering wing, and chatter mournfully, And make her nest, and seek eternal home. Even Thine altars! where in holy state Lies the Great Sacrifice of endless love, Incense adoring streams to heaven's gate, Service unceasing seeks Thy throne above.