and holding it up before the Saxon army they well-nigh produced a panic, for the Saxons believed that their king was slain, and Edmond had a lively quarter of an hour in correcting the error and restoring order.  He finally did so and won victory at last.  The chronicler gave the name of the Saxon who thus suffered untimely decapitation as Hosmer.  I told the story and Freeman at once insisted that it should be confirmed.  He sent his daughter to the library, who returned bearing a huge tome containing the chronicle of Florence of Worcester.  Freeman turned at once to the date, 1016, and there was the passage in the quaint mediaeval Latin.  It was indeed a Hosmer who unwittingly had so nearly brought Edmond Ironside to grief.  “Was I descended from the man?” queried Freeman.  Quite proud that my story had been substantiated and perhaps a bit vainglorious over the fact that a man of my name had looked like a king, I was not slow in saying that I probably was, that my line for six hundred years after that date, honest yeomen, had lived near the spot, in the fields of Kent.  Freeman assented to the probability, but it was suggested by others present that there was a further tradition.  The Hosmer of 1016 had lost his head, the Hosmers since that day had been constantly losing theirs, in fact, there had been no man of that name since that time in England who had any head worth speaking of, indeed they were said to be born without heads.  Had this curious heredity been transmitted to the American line?  I was forced to admit with confusion that I could cite no circumstances to rebut the suspicion, but all was good-natured though pungent, and when we broke up I retired to the guest chamber in a pleasant excitement.  Freeman, who conducted me himself, brought the guest-book, calling my attention to the fact that the chamber had shortly before been occupied by Gladstone.  The next morning we drove to Wells where, under the guidance of Freeman and Mr. Hunt, I studied for some hours the beautiful cathedral.  It is not so large as many cathedrals, but few of them are more interesting.  The front is finely impressive; a curious, inverted arch in the choir which descends from the ceiling to meet an arch rising from the floor at a point midway between the roof and pavement is a unique thing in architecture, a master-stroke of the mediaeval builder who solved a problem of construction and at the same time produced a thing of beauty.  I remember, too, in a chapel, an example of a central column rising like a slender stem of a lily and foliating at the top into a graceful tracery, springing from the columns which surround and enclose the space.  All this is elaborated with exquisite detail in the white stone.  My guides, who were full of feeling for the architectural perfection, knew well the story of the builders and the interesting events with which through the centuries a masterpiece had been associated.  It was a charming visit closed, appropriately, by this inspection under Freeman’s guidance, of the cathedral of Wells.