Puslapio vaizdai
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UNPROFITABLE FARMING.

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cheese, preserved meats and vegetables of different kinds, eggs, and so forth. It certainly seemed to us strange, that with farms unlet, some even going out of cultivation, we should import so much produce that could be grown at home. There are acres of land in England untilled, because, we were told, it will not pay to till it, and yet we import yearly much of what that land might produce for us at home. I am not, I am thankful to say, a political economist, but common sense tells me this is not as it should be, nor can I see the point of emigration meetings to send Englishmen out of England whilst penniless foreigners flock hither to take their place.

A farmer of whom we sought information told us that farming now was a losing business. I've been a farmer all my life,' he said, 'but I would not take a wheat farm rent free. Stock farming may pay, but wheat growing won't. My sons have gone to Canada, and if I were a young man I'd go there too.' It certainly does appear astonishing that land should be going out of cultivation in crowded England, with all the advantages of cheap labour and the home market close at hand. As the farmer seemed an intelligent man, we further ventured to question him as to whether he could suggest any reason for this strange state of affairs. I can't say as how I can give you the cause,' he replied, but it's a fact: farming in England don't pay these times. I've lost money at it, and so have lots of others that I know, and some keeps on losing, hoping for better times that never come. I do not say as how I could not get some sort of a living on some farms, with a

struggle, but it would be hard work and constant anxiety. I might just manage to live, perhaps, but I could put nothing by for old age. It's the big manufacturing towns that makes the laws now, and they care nought for agricultural interests-leastways, that's my opinion. But if all our best country folk have to leave, where will England be, I wonder?' And we wondered too.

Aylsham possesses a very fine old church-an art education in itself. John of Gaunt is reputed to have been the builder of it, and his arms are sculptured on the beautiful old font, so that there may be something in the tradition. Wandering around the old churchyard, groping amongst the ancient, mossencrusted, lichen-stained, and almost undecipherable tombstones in quest of quaint inscription or curious epitaph, we came upon a piece of ground by the side of the chancel railed off and laid out as a garden, with beds of blooming and sweet-smelling roses bounded by boxwood borders and tiny gravel paths. The little garden was well cared for. On the wall above it was the following inscription, which we copied :

IN THIS GARDEN IS BURIED THE

BODY OF

HUMPHRY REPTON, ESQRE.

Not like Egyptian Tyrants consecrate,
Unmixed with others shall my dust remain,
But mould'ring, blending, melting into Earth,
Mine shall give form and colour to the Rose,
And while its vivid blossoms cheer Mankind,
Its perfumed odours shall ascend to Heaven.

We were unsuccessful in our search for epitaphs,

A FINE PORCH.

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but we came upon several tombstones raised to the memory of devoted wives and husbands, with spaces left for the surviving husband's or wife's name to be added when they died in due course; but in several cases no further addition has been made to the inscriptions. We presume, therefore, that in these cases both the surviving husbands and wives had consoled themselves with other partners, and rest elsewhere.

The porch of the church is very fine, and is decorated with flint and stone panelling-so effective and frequent in Norfolk. It possesses an elaborately carved niche, from which the figure has been removed, probably at the Reformation; doubtless this contained an image of the Virgin Mary and Child. The ancient royal arms are also carved upon the porch. The tower of the church is fine, and shows markings plainly proving that the roof of the structure was formerly of a much higher pitch. This tower is protected by a lightning conductor. Nothing special about that, or worthy of mention,' you will probably exclaim, kind reader; but, as a matter of fact, there are, as far as our experience goes, exceedingly few church towers protected from lightning; the so-called conductors that most have attached to them are simply no protection whatever. In the first place, these are frequently of iron, worn and rusted away, sometimes of copper rope so thin as to be useless, and not unfrequently carefully disconnected from the building by glass or porcelain holders, so that if the lightning were to strike any other part of the structure the

holders would effectually prevent the electric fluid from being led harmlessly to earth. I make bold to say that nine out of every ten conductors fixed to buildings in England are worse than useless-even dangerous. Therefore, from our experience in such matters, we were surprised for once, in a remote Norfolk town, to find the church fitted with a real conductor, that would conduct, and properly attached; this one is a continuous copper band, of sufficient width, and nailed to the tower, and really protects it. It is astonishing how much ignorance there is upon this matter of lightning conductors.

CHAPTER XIII.

A Wooded Country--A Gipsy Encampment-Cawston Church—A Grand Carved Roof-ThePlough-light' Gallery-A Fine Rood Screen-The Saint who cured the Gout-An Interesting FrescoA Curiosity-Sall Church-Hard Times-The Cottager's WantAncient Brasses-Birds in Church-Reepham-Names not always pronounced as spelt-Two Churches in one Churchyard-A Quaint Tomb to a Crusader.

WE had another fine morning on which to continue our pleasant pilgrimage; the clouds that had gathered threateningly around overnight had dispersed, the sun was shining softly down, and a balmy summer breeze was blowing. What better could the most fastidious wayfarer desire? Our aneroid (which useful instrument we always carry with us when driving across country, for hotel barometers are not always in working order or to be relied upon, and some hotels have none), our aneroid then we found had risen considerably since the previous evening. We felt therefore that we had nothing to fear from the weather, so we started away in the best of spirits, full of pleasant anticipations as to what the day would bring forth. All before us was fresh, unknown; we had not even given a thought as to where we should spend the night, so unfettered and delightfully uncertain of our movements were we.

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