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the rebels against Henry III., for which he was summoned to the monarch's presence.

The King he sent for Bigod bold
In Essex where he lay,

But Lord Bigod laughed at his poursuivant

And stoutly thus did say :

'Were I in my castle of Bungay,

Upon the river of Waveney,

I would ne care for the King of Cockney.'


The prospect from the castle walls is very fine. A green and wooded country stretches all around, through which the Waveney winds like a silver ribbon. A grand panorama was before us; a silent world asleep in the midday sunshine, a vast farspreading landscape across which mighty cloudshadows swept in silent motion. Whilst we were gazing delightedly upon all the fair prospect the inevitable guide turned up, as we half feared he would, in the shape of a ragged boy. Would you like to see the dungeons?' said he; they have only just been discovered.' So we were led away and shown some dark places underground, the expected tip was given, and we were once more left in peace, much to our gratification. A once lordly castle turned into a sort of peepshow! Sic transit glor mundi! What would stern Bigod the Bold have thought of his stately fortress doing duty as a nineteenth-century showplace? Enough to make the proud warrior turn in his grave.

Descending into the town, we were much interested in some of the quaint carvings upon the ancient houses. The most curious of these was one with the representation of men and animals fighting;

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in this we observed a man struggling with two dragons, or what we presumed to be such. The town possesses two fine old churches, which are very interesting. The largest seems to have been larger still at one time, for the ancient chancel is still in ruins, though now built off from the main edifice; the other church is notable for its round tower, which is strangely capped with an octagonal top of flints. Finding our way down to the river we came upon two men fishing. We made bold to ask then what sport they were having, and were somewhat amused at the reply we received to the effect that they had caught nothing as yet, but we've only been out since nine.' It was then past two o'clock. What patience these anglers have! I have known followers of the gentle craft in wild Wales start out early in the morning of a pouring-wet day, and return home late in the evening to the little inn at which we were staying, drenched through to the skin, with a bare half-dozen of tiny trout in their creel, but smiling contentedly, ay, and starting off betimes next morning under precisely the same. conditions, and ending their wet outing with much the same result both as to sport and enjoyment. There seems to me to be one advantage the angler out for a holiday has: wet weather little affects him, if, indeed, it does not sometimes actually raise his spirits. Fancy the ordinary tourist with a few days to spare making merry under such depressing conditions! Sometimes I have felt almost inclined to turn fisherman myself, and learn the secret of the angler's content.


Returning to our inn we ordered the horses to be put to, and found one of the commercial travellers with whom we had dined just about to drive out of the courtyard. We noticed that he had a camera-stand strapped to his conveyance, and he told us that he did a little photography when on the road. My round takes me three weeks,' said he, ' and whenever I see a pretty bit on the way I just pull up and take it. I've got quite a collection of views that I have secured when on my rounds. used to find it dull and monotonous at times, driving all alone; since I've got a camera, however, I take an interest in scenery, and being always on the lookout for picturesque peeps, I don't feel half so dull now as formerly.' Landscape photography, as well as sketching, makes one appreciate and understand the beauties of Nature more. In searching for subjects the faculty of artistic sight is more or less aroused, and in time the eye becomes trained to see unexpected beauties where before it only beheld trees and fields.

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A freshening west wind and gathering grey clouds betokened rain as we left Bungay. Masses of dun-coloured vapour, laden and bulging with moisture, were sweeping across the sky; now the sun came out cheerily for a moment, and anon all the landscape was in gloomy shade. Just as we reached the pretty hamlet of Mettingham down came the rain in real earnest, and we were glad to drive under the shelter of some wide-branching elms. The worst of the shower over, we rambled up to the picturesque church which stands by the

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roadside. The tower of this is round, but we had become so accustomed to round church towers that we no longer regarded these with the special interest of novelty. We noticed here the Saxon doorway with a quaint figure above it, and caught a glimpse through one of the windows of a curiously carved font. Then a mile or more of pleasant treebordered lane took us to Mettingham Castle. A picturesque, ivy-covered ruin this, which, unless I greatly mistake, is an old friend of ours—in pictures. It is strange how, in driving across country, you will now and again come upon a place or an old building that seems perfectly familiar to you, although you have never been in that part of the world before ; but the artist has been there, and has already revealed its beauties to you in his paintings.

Only the entrance gateway of the castle is to be seen from the road, with a peep of the weed-grown moat, spanned now by a stone bridge. There was nobody about; so, taking our sketch-book with us, we wandered over the ancient ruin. In what was the former courtyard we found a modern brick homestead in the so-called Queen Anne style, and a very charming home it was, snugly contained within the castle walls; the bright cheerful look of the trim new building, with its tidy gay flower garden, contrasted strangely and effectively with the dark, rugged, and weather-stained remains of the old stronghold. As we were sketching, some one came up to us and asked whether we knew that we were trespassing; we replied that we feared we were, and apologised for our intrusion, explaining that as we could see no

one about of whom to ask permission, we had invited ourselves into the ruins, and trusted that we were doing no harm in making a sketch of them. 'A soft answer turneth away wrath;' we soon made friends with the man in authority who came intent on warning us away, and had a long and interesting conversation with him, which ended in our obtaining permission to ramble about wherever we liked. During our chat we learnt that some years ago a peal of six bells, all of real silver, was found whilst draining a portion of the moat, which bells were supposed to have belonged to the chapel of the castle. I am afraid that during our wanderings we have at different times been tempted to do a good deal of trespassing, but in every case, upon apologising and explaining our purpose, we have been treated not only with civility but now and again even with unexpected courtesy. Upon one occasion a gentleman, in whose park we had wandered regardless of notice boards, ended his remonstrance against our trespass by actually asking us into his house to lunch! Possibly there may be some surly landlords, but so far I have not come even upon a single example. I can only speak of people as I find them. A little civility is an excellent passport to take with you on a tour; civility begets civility-and it costs nothing.

Having secured one or two additional sketches for our ever-growing collection, we remounted the phaeton and once more proceeded on our way. The rain, which had held off for a time, now commenced in earnest, but we were prepared for it, and

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