reposeful feeling is done away with. Very different in this respect and fortunate are modern architects, compared to their predecessors, whom the fashion of a former time compelled to erect nothing but classical structures-models of Grecian temples in modern England, tortured to doing duty for English homes!

But with all its advantages, merits, and, above all, its possibilities, I think it a matter for regret that the architects of to-day, instead of wandering about in the search for something original, have not been contented to copy, in spirit at least, the old English Tudor or Elizabethan work. This, moreover, adapts itself readily to modern requirements and conveniences. These styles, essentially national, have stood the trying test of time, and are certainly more beautiful, freer from studied eccentricity and planned irregularity than our misnamed Queen Anne. Time alone will prove whether, rather than have attempted a new departure, we had better not have contentedly abided by the best traditions of the past, confirmed as these have been by the approval of ages.

The perfectly original and pre-eminently picturesque Tudor and Elizabethan styles are at once thoroughly English and at home with their surroundings; in every respect are they superior to the stiff classical structures, with their dry meaningless details, endless repetition of similar forms, and wearying sameness, that a past century raised both in town and country.

The worst feature of some of the modern attempts is, that discord has taken the place of dulness. In the search for originality and quaint

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ness, old-time details are employed and unintelligently applied details whose uses have long since passed away, and which are now, therefore, nothing but purposeless excrescences. And to make matters worse, wrong materials are sometimes used for these: iron for brick, and painted wood for carved stone, possibly more for economy than from ignorance, but the result is equally lamentable.

It is the reversal of the survival of the fittest, this reproduction of past forms without any fitness whatever for their present employment or adequate knowledge of their meanings. Gargoyles are placed here and there without fulfilling any practical purpose, since rain-water pipes are now always used. I know a case in point, of a church built recently in London, in which the gargoyles are stuck on for ornament, and were they to answer their purpose would simply pour their contents right upon the heads of the congregation who might be entering or leaving the building at the time! Could anything be more ridiculous? Amongst other things, we have watch turrets reproduced in modern residences, suggested by medieval castles; these are built out at odd corners, wherever the architect may be able to find a place for them, they are of no service for light or room, and are needless for defence, besides being frequently full of wrong or inconsistent detail-anachronisms such things altogether, in reality as incongruous as would be a coat of mail upon a modern soldier. Accessories like these were not designed by the builders of old for picturesqueness; they were simply constructed as

matters of necessity or utility, and, having them to deal with, they frankly made a virtue of the obligation, ornamenting them with quaint shapes and forms, turning them into objects of beauty or interest, at the same time never losing sight of their original purpose.

An Ancient Manor House-A Fine Old Staircase-Fortified Houses -The Ideal Past-Old Churches-Hawkhurst-English Gardens -Lamberhurst-A Breezy Drive-A Good Word for the British Climate A Ruined Windmill-A Picturesque Farmhouse-The Fate of Old Coaching Inns-A Primitive Letter-box--An Oldfashioned Hostel-Hops as Creepers-The Landlords of the Past -An American's Opinion of English Country Inns-Guide-book Information Where St. Paul's Cathedral Railings were cast-A Useful Windmill.

SHORTLY after leaving the architect we came to a long descent, half way down which to the left, some distance from the road, backed by wooded hills, we observed an ancient manor house, stone-built, not half-timbered, like nearly all the others we had seen this journey. There were signs that it had been moated in times past, though where the water had presumably been was now a dry hollow, doing duty as an orchard. We could not resist the temptation to stop, and, taking our sketch-book with us, we did a little trespassing to get a better view of it. Just as we were about to commence a sketch, we noticed a man approaching us, who turned out to be the

bailiff. He took a great interest in the progress of the picture, and when we had finished it he asked us if we would like to have a look over the old house. He said: 'I manages the farm now, and live there all alone with my wife, so it's desolate like, but it's been a fine place in its day.' We gladly accepted his invitation, and congratulated ourselves upon our good fortune in being thus unexpectedly enabled to inspect the ancient home.

Upon a nearer approach we discovered it had a deserted appearance, not observable from the distance; the shutters were up against most of the windows, the gardens were uncared for, the walks were weed-grown, and generally the place had a neglected, haunted look. Coming to the entrance, the oak door of which was carved and had a quaint wrought-iron knocker and handle, we observed, cut in the stone above, the initials and date as follows:

Our guide knocked at the door, evidently little used the sound of the knocking re-echoed in a mournful manner, that told of an uninhabited house, for the bailiff and his wife only occupied some rooms at the back. The interior wore a most wobegone look, cobwebs and the dust of ages had gathered in the vacant chambers, the floors and all the woodwork were of oak, literally black with age, and perhaps helped as well with dirt ingrained. 'You see, sir,' the man remarked to us, it's all real heart oak.'

Then he showed us the staircase, of oak also,