fair frontings to modern streets or road-ways, too often form but outer coatings of decency to masses of corruption hidden away in close yards, courts, and alleys, at their back—church towers, and spires, and turrets in manifold variety and abundance; and prominent among the host, stands out in all the glory of hale old age, fine old St Peter’s, looking down from his proud eminence in solemn dignity, and smiling at all the feeble efforts of the mushrooms clinging to his very base to hide his fair proportions; far and wide may we look to find his peer, even among such gems of beauty as the patron saints so lavishly have scattered among the lanes and thoroughfares of this very garden of churches. Such are the city features of the panoramic see; turning to another point of view, away, beyond the foreground of the sheep and cattle pens that bespeak the conversion of the ancient inner ballium into a modern market-place for live stock, and across the deep running channel laden with crafts not yet wholly superseded in their labours by steam—that infant Hercules, whose leading-strings are compassing the surface of the globe—we catch a glance of the hanging woods of the fairest village our Norfolk scenery may boast, whose Richmond-like gardens skirting the pathway of the winding river, and meadow lands beyond, dotted here and there by the alder cars that once gave a name to the Benedictine convent close by, form a landscape of mingled animation and quiet rural beauty, not often to be equalled in the suburbs of a manufacturing city. No marvel why gala spots for pleasure-loving citizens should be found interspersed among the more refined parterres of the wealthy upon the shores; no marvel that a summer’s evening should witness crowds of holiday-seeking folks, thronging to taste the sweets of fresh air, and rest from labour, in the midst of so fair a scene.