A MOATED MANOR HOUSE.

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Long Melford is a village to which the term romantic might justly be applied; the old portion of it, that is, for as we drove along we came to a modern addition which is unromantic and commonplace enough, consisting as it does of rows of white brick and slate-roofed cottages, built all in a row for economy, each cottage having only a few yards of garden for the same reason. What a startling and sudden contrast with the spacious feeling given by the old-world village adjoining! Needless to say that we made a long stop at Melford; it was a place so exactly after our heart. Both sketch-book and camera were called into requisition; the place was full of pictures.

Near to the village is another fine, ancient, and picturesque mansion, Kentwell Hall. This was built by the once powerful family of the Cloptons, who rest now beneath gorgeous altar-tombs in Melford church. Kentwell Hall, which is approached by a noble avenue of lime trees nearly a mile in length, is a very fine example of a moated manorial mansion of the sixteenth century. The illustration I have given of this grand old English hall will better explain what manner of place it is than pages of prosaic print, so I refrain from further detailed description. Besides the pleasures of sketching from Nature and the delights of picture-making, one most valuable advantage in being able to draw is the readiness with which the wielder of the pencil can explain to a friend the appearance of a place or the character of a scene. Who can convey in words the precise form and varied outline of a mountain?

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. 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