A JACOBEAN MANSION.

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after our out-of-the-way wanderings beyond railways, gives one the impression of being almost gay. The lone Norfolk shore upon which many a gallant ship has left its ribs, is not lonely here. Cromer is now a get-at-able place; the railway is surely but effectually driving all the romance out of it, but the country round about is full of interest and will remain unspoilt for many a year yet. Perhaps one of the most interesting walks from the place is to Felbrigg Hall, only some three miles away. The house, situated in a finely timbered park, is a magnificent and well-preserved specimen of a Jacobean mansion, and repays a visit. This charming estate formerly belonged to the Windham family. The last owner of that name, known as 'Mad Windham,' sold the property, house, land, ancient pictures, furniture and all, to a wealthy Norwich merchant, a Mr. Kitton; and a local saying has it, with more wit than one generally finds in such things:

Windham has gone to the dogs,

But Felbrigg has gone to the kittens.

Out of Cromer it was collar-work for some distance. The first part of our stage was decidedly hilly, but on reaching the high ground we were well rewarded for our climb, for we had wide views all around over a beautiful country, a country of hill and dale, of wandering streams and waving woods. The prospects that opened out before us ever and again were most charming. The curious round towers of the churches gave a special character to the landscape; had it not been for these, we might easily have imagined ourselves in some picturesque part of

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Yorkshire.

The beautiful scenery of this portion of Norfolk is not so well known as it deserves. Not only is the scenery lovely, but it abounds as well in ancient buildings, grand old churches, moated manor houses, Elizabethan homes, mostly interesting these and always picturesque. Not unfrequently these pasttime mansions have some quaint legend attached to them, and not a few have the reputation of possessing ghosts of the good old-fashioned sort! None of your modern paltry invisible spectres that rap upon and turn tables for money.

Our journey that day was in truth a very pleasant one. The weather still smiled upon us, the morning was bright, breezy, and invigorating, and as we drove along we felt as light-hearted and 'jolly' as a boy just home from school for his holidays. How inspiriting it is, this driving across country, how health-giving this being out in the open air the whole day long, without fatigue, the mind agreeably occupied with the ever changing scenes, and anticipating all sorts of pleasant possibilities! We had a kind of vague feeling as though we were exploring an known land; at any rate it was a fresh one to us, possessing all the charm of novelty, the glamour of mystery that lies upon an undiscovered country. Now that 'globe-trotting is in fashion, and travellers rush all over the earth as fast as steam can take them, it is a wholesome change to remain at home and explore some portion of neglected England.

A wild west wind met us as we drove along, wild but warm. It rustled the leaves of the trees and bent the green corn before it, making great green

sea.

SUNSHINE AND SHADE.

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waves as it passed over the long fields, waves on land as well as on the ocean, and the continuous 'sur, sur, sur' of the wind-blown foliage gave forth a soothing murmurous sound like that of the distant Great white clouds were drifting past us overhead, causing mighty patches of shadow to sweep over the far-reaching landscape, and now and then a summer shower blotted out a portion of the view. The atmosphere was clear, the distance near and well defined, as it is in such weather; the transient effects of the ever changing light and shade were most beautiful. Now an isolated gleam would reveal an old church tower half hidden before, then it would rest upon a red-roofed farmstead, and travelling on would, as if by magic, change the leaden hue of a stream to a shining silvery streak. It is wonderfully beautiful and interesting to watch upon a cloudy day a ray of sunlight wandering thus capriciously over a far-spreading landscape.

Though our drive was most enjoyable, there was nothing special to note on the way till we reached Ingworth, a pretty little village by the side of the fishful-looking river Bure. Here on a rising knoll by the side of the road we observed a forsakenlooking church, its round tower in ruins, its graveyard grass-grown and neglected, the inscriptions on some of its tombstones weathered away, others chipped and uncared for, its thatched roof patched here and there to keep the rain out. Somehow this neglected-looking church appealed to us; such a humble, primitive place of worship, yet, as we found, interesting withal. Finding the door of the