WAYSIDE MONUMENTS.

29

Leaving Brentwood, by the side of the way we came upon a fine granite obelisk. We pulled up to inspect this, and to discover from the inscription thereon the cause of its erection. This we copied as follows:

TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF

WILLIAM HUNTER,

A NATIVE OF BRENTWOOD,

WHO

WAS CONDEMNED AT THE EARLY AGE OF NINETEEN,
BY BISHOP BONNER, IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN MARY,
AND BURNT AT THE STAKE

NEAR THIS SPOT.

MARCH XXVI, MdLv.

I have given this inscription, because in these days when travellers by road are about as scarce as eagles in the land, these wayside monuments (of which there are many, and some of great interest scattered throughout the country) are known and seen by few.

At Mountnessing, the first village we came to after leaving Brentwood, we again made a short stop, attracted by the fine and elaborate scroll-work of wrought iron that supports the sign of the rural hostel there; the George and Dragon, to wit. This charming and interesting bit of iron-handicraft delighted us, so pleasing and full of purpose is it, yet withal so simple in design. The art of making decorative, and even a thing of beauty, a commonplace everyday piece of work such as this (merely to perform the humble office of holding a country inn sign) seems almost gone from us. In this ambitious age we seek for grandeur and ostentatious

show, we raise imposing structures if we do not build mightily, and by mere size we secure a certain pseudo-dignity, unmindful or careless of the real grace of minor things and well-studied detail. It is the sum of these unconsidered trifles, the fanciful conceits and playfulness of their designs, that charms us so in most old work, and which is so sadly conspicuous by its absence in that which is new. Even when we do condescend to trouble ourselves as to the design of some plain contrivance, we multiply it indefinitely by machinery; having a good thing we repeat it so that at last it becomes monotonous and wearisome by the ever-recurring sameness. The numerous fine specimens of wrought iron-work that still remain to us, standing for sign-posts beside the once thriving but now almost deserted coaching inns, prove how even a simple thing can be made effective and artistic as well as useful, when the workman loves his work.

So pleased were we with the picturesque sign of the little inn at Mountnessing, that we unpacked our camera and exposed a plate upon it: which proceeding on our part, as usual, caused a small crowd of men and boys to collect around us, and who insisted on posing themselves exactly where we did not want them, in order that they might be in the picture. Why, I wonder, do people so delight to be included in a photograph which in all probability they will never see?

The camera we found of great service in quickly and correctly securing for us bits of architecture, such as quaint carvings, altar-tombs, ornamental

PHOTOGRAPHY FOR TOURISTS.

31

doorways, gargoyles, and the like. For those who cannot sketch, the camera (now that photography is made such a simple and easy operation) is a most delightful addition to the kit of the driving tourist, who, as his conveyance always waits upon him, has all the pleasure of the instrument without its ever becoming a burden. A small photographic outfit (which need not be expensive) adds vastly to the interest of such an outing as ours, as by the aid of the camera many a pretty picture may be taken, or the representation of anything of interest on the way that may strike the traveller may be speedily and with little trouble secured. Thus any one unhappily unskilled in drawing may yet be able to bring back home with him many a pleasing photographic picture to recall to his mind various beauty-spots and places of interest he may have come upon during the course of his journey.

As we were packing up our photographic paraphernalia, one of the party that gathered around us (upon what authority I know not) volunteered the information that the sign was the finest in the country (we presumed he meant county), and that it cost over fifty pounds, and he further remarked that it had been made in the neighbourhood.

A short and pleasant stage brought us to Ingatestone, a quiet picturesque little town, long spread out, one of those places which, owing to their position on the main highway, prospered greatly in the days of road travel, but like the rest it seems to have fallen asleep when the last coach took its last change there, and never to have had the energy to waken