Puslapio vaizdai
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A REMINDER OF AMERICA.

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while to live for a time in a wet, stormy climate, such as the Western Highlands, if only to study the magnificent cloud and atmospheric effects), and for the rare beauty of that moment we rejoiced in the wet.

By our lonely road at one spot we came to a solitary wooden shanty that would not have disgraced America. Indeed the wild desolate-looking country around, the rough roadway, and the primitive dwelling, reminded us much of somewhat similar homes, set in similar scenery, we had beheld in the Western territories of America.

The warm cheerful sunshine, the golden lights and purple-grey shadows, came as a great contrast with the dreary grey world we had so lately traversed ; the wild waste looked even lovely, the lonely leaden pools had become golden, the gloomy greys had turned to purples, and the landscape was full of colour.

Uphill now our road led us towards the setting sun, and on the crest of the rise stood out, almost black against the luminous sky, a clump of Scotch firs. This lonely, darksome group of trees impressed us; if the sky was clear, the wind still blew, and as it soughed through their branches eerily, it seemed almost as though the very spot were haunted by the spirits of long-departed highwaymen, who ended their exciting career on the gibbet that formerly stood here. For in the good old times' this farspreading heath was a favourite resort of such men, and doubtless nervous travellers blessed their stars when they were safely over it without any misadventure. An old writer relates, à propos of high

waymen and gibbets, that two certain famous 'knights of the road' once met beneath one of these latter structures. Ah!' said the first, 'what a fine profession ours would be, if there were no gibbets!' 'Fool!' replied the other; 'gibbets are the making of us, for if there were no gibbets, everyone would be a highwayman, and where then should we be?' Anyway it is well that both gibbets and highwaymen are things of the past. A gibbet could not have been a pleasant sight to come suddenly upon, driving along alone in the olden days.

Gaining the top of the hill, a glorious prospect opened out before us; a vast far-spreading landscape of hill and dale, of wood and river. A grand panorama it was, stretching away from green to grey and grey to blue. A sense of mystery lay over it seen in the half light of the solemn uncertain gloaming, for the evening was coming on; a shadowy land, uncertain and undefined, it was like those one sees in dreams. A feeling came over us, not to be analysed nor set into mere words, as though we were just about to descend and explore a new country---the unknown is full of possibilities. Not a house nor a building of any kind was to be seen from our vantage height, only woods, hills, and a winding river threading its way through the mystic landscape like a ribbon of gold. We might have been about to enter upon an uninhabited country. There was a certain feeling of fascination in letting our romantic imaginings, for once, have full play: half of the beauties of a landscape consist in the poetry we put into it. As we look at Nature so she looks

A HALF-TIMBERED HOSTEL.

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back at us. A true artist sees a picture almost everywhere; some people can never see one at all till a painter has revealed it to them.

Descending the hill and ascending another, we arrived at a straggling dimly lighted village, with a church prominently set on a height—a grey old fane with the usual round tower; then another steep and long descent brought us to the ancient and romantic little town of Thetford, once the capital of East Anglia and the seat of a bishopric. Here we patronised the Bell Inn, a very ancient and old-fashioned hostelry, with a half-timbered upper story projecting the whole of its length. We could discover no date on the building, but judged it to be of the sixteenth century. Doubtless it was formerly a coaching house of some importance, but when we were there the only conveyance we saw in the spacious yard was an antiquated omnibus. Our Our cosy little sitting-room here had a curious staircase all to it itself communicating directly with our bedroom just above. Such a peculiar arrangement we had never met with before; we presumed that this was not originally thus, but was the outcome of alterations made from time to time in the rambling structure to suit varying needs.

As Thetford appeared to be an interesting place, we determined to make a later start next day than usual, so as to have time to inspect the town and surroundings. First we found our way to the ruins of the abbey, founded by Roger Bigod in 1104; these stand in a pleasant position by the riverside, but are too ruinous to be of much interest save to

the enthusiastic antiquary. Here in mid-stream we saw an angler sitting in a punt waiting for a nibble. We watched him for some time, but no nibble came; nevertheless there he sat smoking his pipe, the very picture of contentment—or laziness. When we drove out of the town some three hours later, there still sat our patient angler watching his idle float. Surely the gentle fisherman has learnt the rare art of contentedly doing nothing.

Much for my sport I cannot say,
Though, mind, I like the fun :
Here have I sat the livelong day,
Without extracting one.

The gentle craft has a certain strange fascination for some men. I know of one (the most energetic and restless of mortals, over-active in mind and body, who never seems happy unless he is on the move), who became enamoured of the sport, and now he will take his rod to some quiet stream or hire a punt on the Thames, and there he will stay the whole long summer day, patience personified. For myself I must say, to enjoy fishing I like to catch fish, but all anglers are not similarly minded, fortunately for them. Upon one occasion I went out with a friend for a day's salmon fishing; we neither of us caught anything, though my companion was an old hand with the rod. In very truth we had only one rise between us. I got at last somewhat weary of sport without any sport, but my friend vowed that we had had a very 'jolly' day, and what more, asked he, could I wish?

From the abbey ruins we wandered to what is

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