been able to live an irresponsible spectator, and not feel his heart
sometimes beat the quicker, nor bow his head unmoved. Nash caught a
glimpse of this.' As an illustration, Dr. Jusserand points to his 'Jack
Wilton'--'The best specimen of the picturesque tale in English literature
anterior to Defoe.' In Lowestoft they ought to keep his memory green.

The writer well remembers the day when Mr., afterwards Sir, Morton Peto,
assembled the inhabitants of Lowestoft in the then dilapidated Town Hall,
and promised that if they would sell their ruined harbour works, and back
him in making a railway, their mackerel and herrings should be delivered
almost alive in Manchester, Liverpool, and London. The inhabitants
believed in the power of the enchanter, and Lowestoft is metamorphosed.
The old town remains upon its beautiful eminence, and memory clings to
the cliffs and to the denes, tenanted only, the one by wild rabbits, the
other by the merry children and the nets of the fishermen. But a new
town has grown up around the harbour--a grand hotel, excellent
lodging-houses, a new church; a great population have upset the romance,
and borne witness to the spirit of enterprise which characterizes this
generation. The new town has spread to Kirkley, has Londonized even
quiet Pakefield, and awakened a sleeping neighbourhood to what men call
life.

At Lowestoft commence what are known to sailors as the Yarmouth Roads--a
grand stretch of sea protected by the sands, where an armada might anchor
secure; and it was a sight not to be seen now, when gigantic steamers do
all the business of the sea, to watch the hundreds of ships that would
come inside the Roads at certain seasons of the year. There, in the
winter-time--that is, from Lowestoft to Covehithe--I have seen the beach
strewed with wrecks, chiefly of rotten colliers, or ships in the corn
trade; but inside 'Lowestoft Roads,' to which they were guided by a
lighthouse on the cliff, they were supposed to be secure. Lowestoft at
that time, with its charming sands, was little known to the gay world,
and depended far more on the fishing than the bathing season. The former
was a busy time, and kept all the country round in a state of excitement.
Many were the men, for instance, who, even as far off as Wrentham, went
herring or mackerel fishing in the big craft, which, drawn up on the
beach when the season was over, seemed to me ships such as never had been
seen by the mariners of Ty