another, another, and another, with faces that one knows again after the lapse of 7 years, as readily as the eyes, nose, and mouth of old acquaintances, and each as different from his neighbour, as distinct in his own individuality, as the men one meets in the streets-true 'old English Gentlemen' of the forest.

The yews, however, are the peculiar glory of the park; the veritable verd antiques. A hundred years is in their sight but as yesterday.' They were in their manhood when William the Conqueror was a little boy. Each century, it is said, adds a new bark to their rugged coats, and now and then, when a decayed giant goes to his long home, the number of barks which come to light at his dissection enable the learned to identify him with one of the 'old yews of Mickleham,' registered in Doomesday Book, perchance 'tis a fable,-I, for one, mean religiously to believe in it, as well as in the murder of the little princes in the Tower, in spite of all the 'Historic doubts' that ever have been or shall be written. These old superstitions are as proper to

the woods, as ghost stories are to old castles.

How finely these yews are placed on this steep slope; and what strange, mysterious sounds of unseen life are heard among them in the stillness of evening! Measure one of the trunks, 18 feet in girth? Aye, it is so; within a foot of the size of the second-class cedars which Lord Lindsay praised so poetically. None of your modern small waists here and they have their names too,-bells are christened, and why should we not christen trees?

There is the Fallen Giant' coiled up as in mortal agony; the King of the Park'; 'the Horse and its Rider.' It would be easy to invent more.

6

The Druids, perhaps, walked here-Monks certainly did, and lo! close adjoining the yews, the cathedral walk,'-one of those natural aisles whose meeting elm-boughs suggested the Gothic arch. Thus in immediate juxtaposition, stand the symbols of Britain's earlier and later faith. Here you have the vegetable saints of the 'contemplators' (if the Hebrew root of their name be the true one), the astrologers, geometricians, historians, statesmen, poets, priests, prophets, of our unfledged nation— they hold the heart by many strings!

But

But there stands the cross; and down go the cromlechs the idolatrous priests, where are they? their stones of memorial' have become blank records; they are made ashamed of the oaks they have desired', their groves on the high places' are cut down, with this almost solitary exceptionits gloomy shade beneath which nothing flourishes, a true emblem of the dark Druidical faith. advance a few steps further, and look upward and around. Do these cathedral arches, towering to heaven and admitting its cheerful light, freely ventilated by the winds which blow wherever they list, and sheltering, not slaying, the seed-bearing herb,-Oh! do these whispering boughs speak an untranslateable language? do they illustrate nothing?"

Very little need, or indeed can be said, after such an admirable description, but there are a few facts

H

T. Aliom

likely to interest the tourist which we must mention before leaving Norbury.

There are three footpaths through the grounds belonging to the public. The first is from Mickleham to Fetcham Scrubbs, and passes within about a hundred and fifty yards of the house; another is entered upon through Mickleham Lodge, and leads out again into the highway to the left of the lodge which is represented in the engraving; the third and last foot-way is from Bookham, across Beechy Wood to Westhumble.

pressive feature of the estate at Norbury. Box trees, venerable with age, and lofty as forest treesbeeches, whose wide-spreading branches and dark green foliage impart the delicious sense of security and repose, and above all, the majestic and patriarchal yews, which have probably seen as many centuries revolve as did the longest liver among the antediluvian fathers,-these form the true glory of the manor, a noble and priceless possession! It seems strange, does it not? that these woodland Sires should live on from century to century, enjoying their quiet existence, and their vegetable loves, and that we, with our keen sense of enjoyment, our love of life, our discursive faculties, should survive only a few short years, ere we pass for ever from the earth? Strange, indeed it would be, were it not for the life beyond life, and the better country to which our shadowy existence here is but the portal!

In the month of October, a rare moth, the Dotted Chesnut (Glea Rubiginea) frequents the yews and feeds on the ripe berries. The juice intoxicates it, and it is easily caught at night.

The manor of Norbury comprises about 550 acres. "The grounds are greatly diversified; in some places descending to the winding banks of the Mole in steep declivities; and in others, rising with bold sweeps into round knolls and commanding eminences. In the disposition of the trees (which are of almost every species) and plantations, much judgment has been exercised; and the rides and walks are so managed as to lead to those points from which the

landscapes can be best seen, and the picturesque beauty of the scenery best appreciated."

From Norbury the traveller can find his way to Westhumble, by passing across Fridley Meadows and over Pray Bridge, which will lead him at once into the street, a short distance from Camilla Lacey,*

There is a very sweet walk over the fields to Dorking, which is entered upon near the House, and we recommend our readers to choose it. However beautiful a road may be, it is always well to escape from it, if one has the choice of a field-path. In the present instance, the pleasantest route is also the shortest.