way, it was sure to be photographed and the photograph for sale; and as the lens is without prejudice, and has not the power of inventing pretty scenery, picturesque places, or romantic ruins, we were able to judge fairly well by the likenesses of the various spots whether they would repay a visit or not.

It is not always wise to place implicit faith in the mere verbal descriptions of places given by country people. Their ideas of the importance or interest of local sights vary considerably; their enthusiasm often lends wings to their imagination, and they consequently lead one to expect far too much. But a photograph has no such powers of poetic romancing; it is essentially truthful. Misled once by a glowingly worded description of an old country house, 'the most curious place as ever I comed across, sir. They do tell as how it were built five hundred years ago, and how it be haunted--' and so on for nearly half an hour; enticed by the long-winded recital, I innocently went out of my way some seven long hilly miles over a detestable road to find a halfruined farmhouse, neither curious nor yet picturesque. Truly the building was ancient enough, but it was old without being beautiful, and when I inquired of the unsophisticated rustic owner if there were a ghost there, he replied that he had never been asked for such an article before; they didn't keep any and'-hesitatingly—' grow any, but perhaps I might get one at th' squire's-he got most everything.' It is only fair to state that this simple son of the soil was a Welshman, and might possibly have failed to perfectly understand my unadulterated

·

A CURIOUS CUSTOM.

55

English, or he might have thought I was trying to make fun of him and that he would pay me back in my own coin with interest added.

6

Respecting Witham, we learnt of a curious custom that still prevails there. According to the 'Essex Directory,' which useful work we found in the sitting-room of our inn, All property within this manor is subject to a fine of one year's value upon the death of the owner or a transfer of the property, to be paid by the successor or purchaser. If, however, the person taking the property were born within the manor, or be already a tenant of it, no such fine is payable. This custom is peculiar, and there are but few instances in which it prevails.'

CHAPTER IV.

An Ancient Hall-Fine Cedars-A terra incognita-Country Lanes and By-ways-A quaint little Church and its History-Puzzling Inscriptions-Curious Names-Tiptree Heath-A Tradition of Dick Turpin-Layer Marney Tower-A Grand Building-A Sixteenth-century Mansion-Friends on the Road-A Notable Structure-A Fine Prospect of River, Land, and Sea.

A VERY pleasant walk through a picturesque pastoral country of green meadows, sparkling streams, and leafy woods, that made the two miles seem like one, took us to Faulkbourne Hall. We found the old mansion (which we reached by a shady avenue through a well-timbered park) to be all that our informant said it was-and more. This romantic home of the olden days, whose ivy-covered, timestained walls are eloquent of the past, is a picture rather than a place, with its many towers, turrets, gables, mullioned windows, and clustering stacks of chimneys. What a beautiful poem is to commonplace prose, so is Faulkbourne to an ordinary building. It is a house to be seen, not described; for its ancient charm, its old-world picturesqueness, and, above all, the sense of a past presence that seems to brood incumbent over its aged walls, are not to be given in prosaic print. The curious tower gateway here is said to have been erected by the Earl of Gloucester in the reign of King Stephen (1135),

NO ADMISSION.

57

and there is nothing in its appearance to prove otherwise.

A grand old home is Faulkbourne, one after our own romantic imagining-a realised ideal-and we envied the owner its possession. Every whit as picturesque as tourist-haunted Haddon, but never having had the glamour of great deed or thrilling love story thrown over it, it has not gained the wider fame, and is, therefore, unknown to the tourist and unsought by him, doubtless much to the possessor's peaceful enjoyment of his own. We found no mention of this interesting old house in our guide-book after most diligent search therein, but knowing the various vagaries of these productions this fact did not much astonish us; indeed, had we really discovered a place so remote from the ordinary beaten paths of travel described there, we should certainly have been somewhat surprised.

On reaching the hall we made bold to ring the bell at the entrance gateway. (One could not use the term 'front-door' in speaking of such a placeit would take all the poetry at once away; though, as a stern matter of fact, I believe it was such a door that we went to.) We rung on the slender hope that perchance we might be permitted to view the interior. It was the housekeeper who answered our summons, and, upon making known our desire, very politely, yet very positively, refused us, stating that no stranger was allowed admission. Her manner showed that she was much puzzled at our even dreaming to ask such an unheard-of thing, which proved to us plainer than anything else that

we had at last discovered a favoured land where the genus tripper has not yet appeared.

Near to Faulkbourne Hall in the grounds are some remarkably fine cedars, alone worth a long journey to see. One of these trees, I think I may safely say, is amongst the largest, if it is not itself actually the largest in the kingdom. When we were there it measured twenty-five feet in circumference at about a foot from the ground. How old it is, who can say ?

Returning to Witham we ordered the horses to, and were soon again on our way. Having been told by an antiquarian friend that there was a remarkably fine old tower-house at Layer Marney, a scattered hamlet in an almost terra incognita between Witham and Colchester, we looked up the name of the place on our map, and endeavoured to make out our route thither, which, however, we were not very successful in doing, for the Essex crosscountry by-ways are almost as puzzling as Hampton Court maze, so we determined to take our course by the compass, selecting those roads that appeared most likely to lead in the direction we desired, trusting to arrive some time during the day at Layer Marney.

It was pleasant on that hot summer day to exchange the dusty highway for the tree-shaded and grass-bordered country lanes, narrow though they were and given to wind about in a most perplexing and annoying manner. Writing of country by-ways, I wonder why it is that Devonshire is so famed above all other parts for the length, narrowness, and