Yet a few touches of the pencil are all that is needed to show this!

What delightful features in the landscape are these old-time English homes, built in the days when building was a living art-beloved of artists for their quaint picturesqueness, and dear to the heart of antiquaries for the histories and traditions that have collected around their ancient walls! Wherein consists the special charm of these old buildings? Allowing for their old associations, the gathered glamour of a legendary and historic past, for the bloom of age upon their weathered and timetoned walls-allowing for these, wherein do they differ from the new? In the first place it seems to me that the architects of old worked up to a noble ideal ; they built grandly, whether it were a lordly palace or merely a humble yeoman's dwelling, for even a barn may be grandly built. Their houses, hall or farmstead, are always picturesque; it is evident, therefore, that beauty was sought for as well as utility and convenience, as understood at the time. What is the first thing that strikes an observer in an old house? Is it not the solid substance of it? The eye beholds nothing mean or flimsy, can trace nothing scamped; the walls are thick and enduring, the timber has not been spared, the house plainly shows that it is solidly constructed and strong.

The architect of old had not learnt to build on strictly economic principles; it had never occurred to him to employ a minimum of material, barely sufficient to maintain, with constant repairs, a structure for the paltry term of a ground lease. He had not

OLD-TIME BUILDINGS.

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so debased his art. He left an ample margin of strength for the necessary weaknesses caused by age and decay; he gave knowingly an excess of material beyond that sufficient to simply uphold his edifice; he rejoiced in stability and strength, in the beauty of main form as well as in decorating honest construction; for though he could restrain himself when needful and understood the virtue of simplicity, he knew that there was even a greater virtue in worthy decoration. Stuck-on ornaments and applied architectural details are not to be found in an old building—at least I have never discovered any upon such, though hardly a modern speculative built house is without.

The architect of the past was a master of his work; he made the style he employed his servant, he never allowed himself to be its slave; he imparted to all he did something of his own individuality; his buildings, though oftentimes quaintly fantastic in parts, had an air of set purpose over all-they were never frivolous. The stately homes of bygone days are frequently richly carved and ornamented, yet in no case have I observed them to be assertively or ostentatiously so; though, give a modern architect the opportunity, and ten to one he will ruin his elevation by meaningless decoration intended for ornament. In fine the chief secret of the charm of old-time homes is their solid and honest construction, the beauty of their varied and bold outline, and the studied care with which even the smallest detail is carried out, the right proportion of height to width (scarcely considered now), the changeful

ness of form in the one building, windows varying in shape, design, and size, the great clustering chimney-stacks, so grouped together originally for strength, but a necessity made into an effective and pleasing feature, the mighty gables, designed first of all to throw off rain and snow, and carved for beauty after. Yes, these old architects built poems! to-day our best is but dull prose.

We left Long Melford, with its stately homes, picturesque green, old-world hostelries, and pretty cottages, with regret. As we saw it on that bright sunny day it seemed to us an ideal village, too romantic almost to be real. There was nothing particular to note on the short stage to Sudbury, unless it were a picturesque peep we had of an old timbered bridge over a little river to the right of our way, of which structure an artist might make a very pleasing picture.

Arriving at Sudbury we drove up to the Rose and Crown, surely the perfection of an old-fashioned hostelry, with its quaint open galleries running around its glass-covered courtyard. This courtyard we found gay with flowers and musical with the songs of caged birds; a pleasant welcome this to the traveller. We were shown into a delightfully cool sitting-room here, our simple meal was served on a scrupulously clean cloth, the maid who waited upon us was a pattern of civility, and the clear nut-brown ale that accompanied our repast was, we deemed, a drink fit for a king.

Oh! the pleasantness of these old English inns when they have retained, as in the present case,