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WRONG MADE RIGHT.
which is picturesque and irregular as most Norfolk towns are. We first made our way to the magnificent church, the grand ruined tower of which is a prominent and striking object. The churchyard is surrounded by houses whose backs face upon it, children were playing at leap-frog over the tombstones, one memorial slab that was lying on the ground had been converted into a slide, and here and there we noticed heaps of rubbish thrown down. The sight depressed us; a churchyard is not a playgrond, nor a huge dustbin. huge dustbin. It is the restingplace of the dead, and should be held sacred. The south porch of the church is of great beauty; this is of elaborately carved stone and flint, with niches (vacant now) for images that the Roman faith loves so well. The old royal arms are cut above the doorway, charged (I believe that is the correct heraldic term) with the three lions of England and the fleurde-lis of France.
Entering the ancient edifice we found the clerk within. Here we noticed a gorgeous altar-tomb, in different-coloured marbles, gilt and painted besides, to one Guilielmus Pastonvs' who died Anno Dni 1608.' As it would take us long to draw in detail this stately monument, we asked of the clerk if we might be permitted to take a photograph of it. He replied that really it was not right to bring 'machines' into a place of worship, but after some conversation with that worthy we made it 'right' by the expenditure of half a crown. Besides this monument there is not much of interest within the church, unless it be a large iron chest with six locks, some
monster gargoyles that we presumed formerly belonged to the ruined tower, and the remains of painted figures at the bottom of the rood screen.
As we were starting for Cromer (the Ultima Thule of the journey), the landlord, who came out to wish us good-bye and a pleasant journey, said, 'You should drive through Gunton Park. Lord Suffield has been in the town, and I've got permission from him for you to drive through; the woods there are most beautiful.' I merely mention this to show the kindly thought and trouble that our host had taken on our account, though he was not singular in this respect.
As we drove out of the town we saw the ancient and restored market cross, with a bell on the top and a railed enclosure beneath; a quaint structure that gives interest to the street.
Our road at first led us through a level, green, and treeful country, but without much of interest till we came to the little hamlet of Antingham, which appeared to us to consist of a solitary farmhouse and one or two cottages. But for all in the one churchyard there are two churches, the one thatched and with the usual round tower we had grown so accustomed to-so much, indeed, that a square tower seemed actually strange to us-the other church is in ruins. It is a most curious fact that in a few places in Norfolk there are two churches in a single churchyard, and sometimes both in use! Of which peculiarity more presently.
Near to Antingham we came upon a milestone by the roadside with the inscription upon it legible.
I record this circumstance as milestones, we found to be exceedingly rare upon our journey, and when existing to have generally their lettering completely worn away. A generation that travels by railway has little care or need of milestones or finger-posts, which is unfortunate for the wise few who journey for pleasure along the forsaken highways and pleasant byways of beautiful England.
Entering Gunton Park, we drove along a wellkept road as smooth almost as a billiard table, with mighty sweeps of greenest sward on either side, bounded far away by many-tinted woods. But beautiful though Gunton Park was, we preferred the common road. The park was too well ordered to please us, too trim and neat; it seemed tame after our wanderings through the wilds of Norfolk, and we were not sorry to get once more upon the old highway, with its tangled hedges, its picturesque cottages, changeful scenes, and varying incidents.
The country now became actually hilly; glorious prospects of wooded heights and sheltered vales opened out before us, and great was the contrast with our level wanderings of the last few days. One rural hamlet that we came upon at the foot of a hill, with its little common, ancient trees, and pond (in which latter some sunburnt children were intently fishing with crooked sticks and strings for lines, and possibly bent pins for hooks), will long linger in our memory as a bit of true wayside poetry. It was as though one of Birket Foster's charming paintings had been given life. Rural England abounds in such pictures.
Uphill then our way led us to a vast stretch of gorse-clad land; from the phaeton we looked down upon acres and acres of glowing gold. Never before had we beheld the gorse in such perfection or in such abundance. It was a glorious sight, a miracle of colour; even Italy can show nothing more gorgeous than a common spread with gorse in the fulness of its bloom, when the sun shines thereon.
Now on through a hilly and wooded country, past pretty thatched cottages, and cottages pretty without being thatched, till after a time Cromer came in sight. As we were on high ground, our horizon was high before us, and so from the top of this our last hill we had a grand panoramic view of this quiet watering-place and the far-reaching, ship-dotted sea beyond. It was a grand prospect, and our eyes rejoiced to range over it unrestrained; very different this from the limited horizons of the Broads. Then a long descent of a mile or more brought us to our destination. Like Essex, Norfolk is not wholly level; it is certainly hilly in parts.
Cromer-Flint Building A Wasting Shore-The Poorer ClassesAlong the Norfolk Coast-Old Fishing Villages-A Bygone Relic -The Gift of Age--A Hilly Road-The Glamour of the Unknown -Ingworth Church-An Ancient Hour-glass Holder-An Old Clerk and his Story-Aylsham-An Old Posting House-Country Shops-Chat with a Farmer-A Rose Garden in a Churchyard— Lightning Conductors.
ARRIVING in Cromer, we drove up to Tucker's Hotel, not so many long years ago a genuine coaching inn, and one that still retains the formerly familiar legend of Posting House.' In spite of the changing times, Tucker's Hotel has manifestly changed but little. It has an unmistakable old-fashioned look ; a flavour of the past seems to linger around its ancient walls; it is the very antithesis of the modern fashionable watering-place hotel. This building faces inland, and even turns its back to the sea, for it was raised in the days before the value of the sea-front was recognised. It would seem that the architect of this old hostel thought rather of shelter than of marine views and sea winds. It is the same at Yarmouth; the old inns wherein the travellers of old took their ease do not face the Marine Parade, and it may be noted that they are none the less comfortable for that.
Securing our rooms, and having refreshed the