A VERY RED LION.

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one of the Dutch ships of war that were captured at the battle of Sole Bay, at least so tradition says; this figure-head is now placed under the great gable of the inn and does duty as a sign, and a very quaint and effective one it makes. This Lion has become famous, and a local saying has it, 'As red as the Martlesham Lion,' though à propos of what I do not know, so that it would appear that this Lion has a reputation for colour to keep up, which may account for its assertive hue. Strangely enough, this is the second time that we have come upon a country inn-sign made from the figure-head of a Dutch ship, in both cases the carvings representing lions, and likewise both being painted a startling red.

Woodbridge is one of those old-fashioned towns that may be described as more interesting than picturesque; as we had still an hour of daylight left on arriving there, we took an evening stroll round the place. In a narrow street leading down to the river we came upon a curious relic of the past. By the side of an ancient building we observed a huge crane, constructed of large beams of timber, leaning over the street. We inquired of a native the purpose of this, and were informed that formerly it was employed to weigh loads of hay and straw that were shipped here, the curious feature of the arrangement being that the wagon with its freight was bodily raised in the air during the proceeding. This primitive method of weighing goods was, we were told, actually employed till within a dozen years

ago.

K

The tidal river Deben here (sung of in pleasant verse by Bernard Barton, the little-known East Anglian poet), with its wooded banks and old-time buildings, its water-mills and rough timber jetties, is most picturesque. We made our way to one of these old mills, and finding the worthy miller himself within, and not indisposed to chat, we entered into a conversation with him and soon became acquainted with the peculiarities of tidal mills. It would seem that the water supply of these is unfailing, which is one advantage, but of course the mills have to be worked according to the state of the tide, which sometimes serves only in the night time, which is somewhat inconvenient. It appears that when the tide has flown in the water is held back by floodgates, and when the tide ebbs the stored-up water is employed to drive the mills. It was suggested some time back by an eminent engineer that when our supply of coal became exhausted, perhaps, owing to our insular position, we might still retain something of our manufacturing supremacy by the erection of tidal mills around our coasts. I cannot agree in this opinion after inspecting a tidal mill. When we have to trust to such a changing motive power as the tides, I fear that there will be but little left of our manufacturing supremacy. Windmills, watermills, and tidal mills are picturesque, but hardly commercially satisfactory. It may even be that the twentieth century may see a new motive power. Who, after recent discoveries, can say what hidden possibilities may not be awaiting birth in the womb of Time? How intensely interesting it would be to

ARABIAN NIGHTS OUTDONE.

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have a foreglance into a science text-book of a century hence! Could the wildest dreams of our ancestors ever have imagined the wonders of steam and electricity? We have outdone even the fabled marvels of the Arabian Nights. Fact is ever stranger than fiction, and our modern machinewrought miracles are in very truth stranger far than any story conceived by the fertile brain of the inventive oriental.

It was very pleasant that peaceful evening, loitering by the side of the slowly-flowing Deben, watching the water as it glided gurgling on its way to the all-absorbing sea, golden where it reflected the sunset glow above, and a silvery grey where it stretched in shade till lost in the dreamy disaway tance. What a soothing, restful thing it is thus to watch a river in the evening light, glancing and gleaming along with a ceaseless onward flow, motion. almost without sound! There always seems to me to be a certain sense of mystery about a river seen in the half light of the uncertain gloaming. However undefined the landscape may be, you may trace the river's winding way by its golden or silvery gleaming leading the eye into a far-off shadowy dreamland. All rivers lead to the sea, and the sea leads everywhere; even the most insignificant river is in touch with the whole wide world, and how silently and spectrally in the gloaming the ships upon a river pass you by! Whence have they come and whither are they going?-the question arises almost without your knowing it. At such an hour there is a sort of vague delight in letting fancy have for once

her way. Comes yonder ghost-like ship-so ghostlike that she might be the veritable 'Flying Dutchman' herself that at last Vanderdecken had managed to steer into port-comes she from some Western El Dorado, or from the golden cities of far Cathay, or from whence? But a truce to these romantic imaginings.

Old ocean holds no terrors any more;

We touch the limits of the farthest zone,
And would all Nature's fastnesses explore:
Oh, leave some spot that fancy still may own,
Some far and solitary wave-worn shore,

Where all were possible and all unknown !

As we lingered by the quiet riverside watching the golden light fading from the sky and the night being slowly evolved from the day, our romantic dreams were brought to a termination by the 'cravings of the inner man,' for it is hard for a hungry mortal to be poetic; we therefore bade farewell to the pleasant Deben and sought our hotel. A very picturesque and pleasant river in truth is the Deben, though it cannot boast upon its side of any ruined abbey, or crumbling castle, or stately home, or any famous town; and though the very name of it, I make bold to say, is known to but few Englishmen living out of Suffolk, still it is a charming stream. Perhaps it is even the more charming for the absence of these things; its gentle windings and quiet flow are best suited to the homelike scenery through which it runs its uneventful course.

As we retraced our steps homeward, or rather hotelward, we chanced to glance into the window of a stationer's shop, and our eyes were attracted by the