not very certain which it was) that quiet little river. Very beautiful were the reeds and the many-hued grasses, but even beauty without variety becomes monotonous in time, and we longed to reach the more open Broad. We kept on rowing, which we found warm work in the hot sunshine, but we seemed to get no nearer to it; it was as though, like a Devonshire lane, the river and bordering reeds had no ending. By-and-by we espied a patient fisherman in a boat anchored by the side of the stream; of him we asked how far it was to the Broad, and learnt that it was only another half a mile on. That half a mile' seemed very long to us. 'What are you catching?' we asked, wishing to learn the sort of fish that anglers seek for here. Nothing,' was the laconic rejoinder. This, though doubtless true, did not much enlighten us as to the object that we had in view, but we refrained from further pressing him.

Then suddenly the river widened out and we found ourselves in Stalham Broad-a silvery stretch of water, surrounded by wooded banks and rich luxuriant meadows; the prospect seemed quite expansive after the limited horizon of the reed-bound river. Here the white sails of yachts gave life to the scene, which life was further heightened by the glancing light of the wings of wandering gulls, who seem almost as much at home on these inland watery wastes as on the wilder sea. Stalham Broad leads to Barton Broad, which latter has the reputation of being the most beautiful of these Norfolk meres ; at least so the civil maid who waited upon us at

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our little inn informed us. Certainly it is one of the largest, but it appeared to us that the Broads are all about equally beautiful, and, save in size, that there is not much to choose between them. Their surroundings are very similar; they are specially characteristic as a whole, not individually one from another.

The church of Barton Turf is interesting on account of its richly painted rood screen. It also possesses some curious old brasses; one of these runs as follows:

I besheche all peple far and ner

To pray for me Thomas Amys hertely,

Which gave a masbook and made this chapel her

And a sewte of blew damask also gaf

Of God m cccc xc and v yer

I the said Thomas decesid verily

And the III day of Auguste was beried her

On hoos sowle God have mercie.

With the possible exception of the obsolete word 'gaf,' signifying 'gave,' the inscription is easily rendered into modern English. These old Norfolk country churches abound in quaint brasses; the archaic spelling of the legends upon many of them, however, is frequently most perplexing. Some we could make nothing of, notably one or two very ancient ones that we discovered in the most interesting church of Sall which we visited later on. Here is another inscription upon a brass at Holme, a village on the coast. The last term 'steven' is an old English word meaning 'voice,' and is thus employed by Chaucer; with this explanation the inscription can readily be made out. It will be noticed in this that

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the only important word spelt as it is to-day is 'vestments':

Herry Notingham and his wyffe lyne her
Yat maden thys chirche stepull and quere
Two vestments and belles they made also
Crist hem saue therfore ffro woo

And to bringe her saules to bliss of heven
Sayth pater and ave with mylde steven.

Returning along the quiet Broad, in due time we re-entered the sluggish river, whose green waters contrasted markedly with the silvery blue of the more open and deeper mere. Here we found it somewhat difficult to steer our proper course, for many other wide streams diverge into this, and the high reeds on either hand prevented us most effectually from noting any leading landmarks, so that it was not easy to gather whether we were on the right track or not. However, eventually, after taking one or two false turns, we managed to make our way safely back to Stalham once more. A short walk from Stalham is Ingham, a village that should be visited by all travellers in the neighbourhood, on account of its grand church (restored) which contains two fine altar-tombs, one of much interest to the memory of Sir Olive de Ingham, who built the sacred edifice. This once renowned warrior is represented in recumbent effigy, and his helmet still hangs over his magnificent monument.

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Out of Stalham our road still led us through a level low-lying land, a country of green pastures still waters. Presently we came to a narrow winding river, crossed by a grey old bridge. The riverbridge, with the quaint buildings around, and the