Having taken the Holt-road for three miles, we turn off to Gresham, and proceed to Barningham-town, or Barningham Wintes, a village consisting of about five hundred acres, belonging to John Thurston Mott, Esq. On entering the grounds, we are instantly struck with the beautiful landscape that surrounds us, and with the richness of the prospect; but our admiration is complete as we reach the picturesque ruins of the church which stands in the park. Anything more lovely we have seldom if ever beheld. The ruins, which are extremely fine, are covered with luxuriant ivy; but there is no appearance of decay here to offend the eye, or to pain the heart, nor even to raise a sigh of regret for the past. The chancel has been put into perfect repair, and most appropriately and liberally fitted up for divine service. All around is calm, holy, happy. True taste, true devotional feeling, pervades throughout. There the dead seem to “sleep sweetly” not in the sadness of death, but in the tranquillity of repose,—not in the gloom that oppresses the heart, but in the peace that speaks of hope. No straggling foot disturbs the green winding-sheet of the slumberers below, the light foot of the bird alone, which hath found there a place to build her nest, presses it, and the robin in privileged security chants from the spreading boughs that wave nigh a requiem over the departed,—not a weed is allowed to obtrude a leaf: the rank grass sighs not there, nor does the thistle shake there its downy head to the wind. The house of God, and “the house appointed for all living,” have been equally respected, and a striking proof afforded how much the beauty of holiness may be enhanced by the spirit of cheerfulness. We are utter strangers to Mr. Mott, we know only his name, (though in so saying, we may “argue ourselves unknown,”) that he is patron of the living of Barningham, and that he inhabits the venerable mansion, which is near the church; but what we have seen and do know commands our esteem, and we gratefully give it. Two miles beyond Barningham, is Wolterton-hall, the seat of the Right Honourable the Earl of Orford, and Baron Walpole. {55} Respecting this handsome mansion we will quote the words of a former tourist:— “Wolterton was purchased by Lord Walpole soon after his marriage. At that time, it consisted of a small mansion, with landed property of not more than five hundred pounds per annum, which he afterwards considerably increased by purchase. The house being burnt down during his embassy, he built the present seat in 1736, which is styled in Walpole’s Anecdotes, one of the best houses of the size in England. It was built after the designs of Ripley. The date is given in the following inscription placed over the door of the eastern entrance: