This estate, properly speaking, comes under the denomination of an adorned farm, by which declaration, I have to request that my readers will not be alarmed by the fear of being led through a succession of scenes too frequently disgusting, by an ostentatious display of trifling puerilities; the nicest taste will not be offended, yet it is adorned, but it is adorned after nature’s model. Like the rest of this part of the Norfolk coast, it consists of uneven ground rising into bold swells, which by the assiduity and perseverance of the late Mr. Flower are now richly clothed with wood from their summits to their base, and united by the most elegant slopes to the rich vallies that divide them. Some of these woods appear thick and impenetrable, while others more open discover through their foliage the most luxuriant and inviting turf, tempting the traveller oppressed with the heat of a summer’s sultry sun, to exclaim in the language of THOMPSON “Still let me pierce into the midnight depth Of yonder grove, of wildest largest growth; That, forming high in air a wood land quire, Nods o’er the mount beneath. At every step, Solemn and flow, the shadows blacker fall, And all is awful listening gloom around.” Among these truly sylvan scenes the sea unfolds its ample bosom; under every circumstance of variation it is an object of awful grandeur; but, perhaps, in its more peaceful moments, when its surface is unruffled by the wind, it is best adapted to scenes like these, where all is harmony and repose. Here too, at certain seasons of the year, the flock roams at large; the wood, the hill, and the valley, are alike subject to the impression of its wandering feet, and scattered in groupes over the landscape add greatly to its beauty. The picturesque figure of the shepherd attended by his dog, the faithful companion of his solitary hours, in whatever situation we find him, whether collecting his scattered flock or indolently stretched at ease upon the verdant turf, are circumstances of the most pleasing kind. “Amid his subjects safe, Slumbers the monarch-swain, his careless arm Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain’d; Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill’d; There, lift’ning every noise, his watchful dog.” Neither must we forget the rural situation of the shepherd’s cottage; this subject has often been the theme of authors, both in fiction and reality; here happily it has in reality the very situation we should wish it to enjoy, sunk in the bosom of its wood crowned hills, it appears though a lowly cot, the very mansion of peace.