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A WATER TYRANT.

207

ahead of us the great red-brown sail of one of the large trading wherries that infest these quiet waters. We well knew the law of the road on land, but on the water we felt a little uncertain as to whether we ought to keep to the right or to the left, so, as we should have fared badly in case of a collision, and as space was limited, we pulled right into a thick bed of reeds, and waited for the wherry to go by. These big trading wherries of the Norfolk rivers and Broads are to the yachtsman as the steam traction engine is to the driving tourist, the tyrants of the way, before which all must give place or be run down. Slowly the wherry came along, and as it passed by us we hailed the steersman, who was contentedly munching a huge crust of bread and cheese, little heeding his steering. Why should he? was not the river straight ahead, and was it not the business of other people to get out of his way? Which is the right side of the river to keep on?' we shouted out; this in case we should meet other like monopolists of the water. To our surprise, knowing the reputation of bargees for incivility, we received a fairly courteous response. 'There bain't no right side,' said he, with wherries. It all depends on the wind; you should alway keep to the windward side, then us can steer clear.' We thanked the bargee for his information, though certainly it seemed to us that as far as he was concerned it mattered little whether we kept to the windward or not, for he was manifestly too intent upon his bread and cheese to take much heed of such small fry as ourselves.

It was very peaceful rowing down (or up, I am

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.

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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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ARCHAIC WORDS.

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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 11 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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