weary of mountains and the more stupendous effects of nature; but meadow and woodland never lose their charm.' I think that perhaps we were the more delighted by the picturesque 'bits' we came ever and again upon, because we were hardly prepared for so much sylvan beauty in a land generally presumed to be devoid of scenic attractions. Nor must the human aspect of the landscape be forgotten, for man has studded it with the works of his hands. You cannot travel far in Eastern England without coming upon some historic spot; some ancient building suggestive of old romance around whose walls bygone memories linger, fraught with interest for the antiquary as well as delightful to the eye of the artist. The country abounds in human associations, in relics of the picturesque and neverreturning past, with all the added charm they give to even the most beautiful scenery. Taking full advantage of our free and independent mode of travel, the only thing definite that we decided upon before starting was to drive to Yarmouth on the east coast, thence northward on to Cromer through the district of the Broads, returning home somehow through the centre of the three counties, the exact route to be decided upon each day as we proceeded.

The weather was kindly disposed; we were favoured with a fine sunshiny morning on which to commence our wanderings, so we started in the best of spirits, for was not our holiday all unspent before us? and what pleasing previsions we indulged in as we drove along, of the many good things that we knew were in store for us!

THE REAL COUNTRY.

9

How delightful is the first day in the country to those just escaped from the din of dusty streets, from the smoky and unbeautiful surroundings of our overgrown cities! Doubly enchanting the country seemed to us after our long entanglement amongst the mean and straggling outskirts of Eastern London. What a relief it was to exchange the noise of the thronged thoroughfares for the quiet peacefulness of the rural roads, where green hedges and shady trees take the place of houses, and pleasant footpaths that of pavements, and where cabs, 'buses, and tramways are unknown! How light and How light and pure the air seemed after the close smoke-laden atmosphere of town! Well do I remember the little thrill of pleasure that went through us when, after reaching the real country, we came upon the first genuine old-fashioned farmstead with its high-pitched gables, its great red-tiled roof, bent with age, and splashed as with gold and silver where the lichens had made their home. An ancient homestead it was, with great elms behind and quite a colony of out-buildings scattered around, a grand bit of building though only a farmhouse.

I verily believe that our hearts beat just a trifle faster when, as we journeyed on, we came upon an old wooden windmill, weather-stained and time-toned, repaired here and there in a happy makeshift manner, old, strained and battered, still bravely working on, its sails slowly revolving round and round, and to complete the picture the white-headed miller himself, looking out at us from an odd slit of a window in the side of his rickety but picturesque

structure.

Then the first half-timbered cottage we came upon, how charming it seemed, with its tiny garden full of homely flowers, gay of colour and sweet of perfume, its leaden lattice windows (all religiously closed, by the way) and its plastered front, painted every imaginable hue by the sun and rain of forgotten years!

Perhaps, however, the greatest charm to the town-tired Londoner of his first day in the country is the sylvan quietude, so peace-bestowing and restgiving, a quietude deepened rather than broken by the gladsome songs of birds, the distant lowing of cattle, the slumberous rustling of leaves stirred by the breeze, or the chime of some far-away church. clock, softened and mellowed by distance. Then, as we progressed, our journey became in truth one never-ending picture: we drove on in a delicious day-dream, drinking in the sweetness and beauty of the sunny landscape, made fairer still by the happy homes of men, telling as they did of human occupancy.

How light-hearted we felt that day: how we rejoiced within ourselves that we had for a time escaped from the monotonous routine and conventionalities of town life! How we congratulated ourselves that we were not slaves to fashion, bound to remain in town just when the country was in the height of its summer glory!

To us, devoted lovers of the country as we are, what attractions could crowded London possibly offer in exchange for our free roving existence, our healthy out-of-door Bohemian sort of life, with the

OUR FIRST DAY'S STAGE.

I I

mild excitement of exploring an unknown part of the world, even though such were a portion of our own country? I believe there are few who appreciate the charms of the country side more than your hard-worked Londoner just escaped from office or professional employment. He who lives all the year round in the midst of natural beauties seldom values his advantages. The effect on the mind of even the fairest scenes is wonderfully enhanced by contrast with less lovely surroundings.

As I have before stated, our first day's stage took us to the Langdon Hills, a spot seemingly much out of the world; so primitive the village of that name, so unsophisticated the people, we felt that both it and they might be leagues away in some untravelled corner of the distant shires-a spot that might be miles from anywhere. In fact, the whole place gave us a strange feeling of remoteness, a very real feeling, yet one hardly to be described in words or analysed. So did the slumberous calm, the old-world tranquillity of the place, impress us, we could scarcely realise that only that morning we had been in the midst of the hurry and bustle of the greatest city of this eager money-making century, so great was the contrast of the feverish activity and rush of modern London life with the dreamy and soothing atmosphere of the spot, so far removed did we seem from noise and smoke of town' and 'from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.'

Somehow I have never yet been able to define to my satisfaction exactly how it is-but somehow, when travelling by road, upon arriving at any spot,

one feels so much further away from the rest of the world than when one has arrived at the selfsame place by the speedy railway. Possibly it may be that the gradual progress, the countless green fields, the miles of spreading country, the straggling villages, the many homes passed by, the numbers of things seen on the way, give to the driving tourist an impression of distance that no mere rapid transit by rail from one station to another can possibly afford. By road the distance between different towns and villages seems lengthened, in comparison with the same distance done by train, in a curious manner; the country appears more spacious, the connecting link between places seems slighter, and the illusion of remoteness is enhanced thereby to a degree that no one who has not travelled the same country both by road and rail can realise or understand. The iron horse has annihilated distance for us, speed has in a measure overcome space; nowadays we rush through the land snugly ensconced the while in a comfortably padded carriage, so that we simply arrive at our destination with little or no knowledge or care of what intervenes; thus we lose all idea of remoteness and the vague charm it adds of apparent inaccessibility.

But, after this too long digression, to return to the Langdon Hills. As we mounted to the summit of these, we passed by the few straggling cottages that form the tiny hamlet that so impressed us with its primitive picturesqueness and old-time look. One of these lowly cottages that does duty as a Post Office we noticed with pleasure had a thatched roof,