and surveyed, and now, for once, it acted. In
1847 it began a long breakwater stretching
outwards from Beacon Cliff, hoping to drive,
as Mr.White thoughtfully observes, the tidal
scour back to the Landguard side, and to sweep
away or shorten the Demon's tongue. In doing
this, and dredging the shoals to the depth of
eighteen feet, the Admiralty have already swept
away one hundred and thirty thousand pounds
of public money; but the fatal tongue is still
cruel, obstinate, and devilish enough to grow,
and some day, when that tongue does speak, it
will scream these ominous words, "Harwich
is gone," and that will be true. There is a
great deal of amber and ambergris, and some
shipwrecked gold among that fatal shingle, but
it will never produce enough, even if found to
pay, for a new Harwich.

A former governor of that same Landguard
Fort that the crow has already inspected was
Philip Thicknesse, the patron of that delightful
painter, Thomas Gainsborough, who was
the son of a small clothier at Sudbury.
Thicknesse bought a fisherman's house at
Felixstow, and turned it into a pretty, seaward-
looking cottage. The old fort of dark red
brick, with its ancient honeycombed and
probably useless guns, was built by James the
First against the Spaniards, and was useful in
Charles the Second's time against the dogged
Dutch, who in 1667, in their daring days after
De Ruyter's battles with Monk, and before we
finally quelled them, and swept the seas of
their clumsy vessels, actually landed three
thousand men here. The crow likes to associate
the old fort garden, with its ragged tamarisks
and views of the expanding Woodbridge Haven,
with that delightful Suffolk painter
whose cottage children are so artless and so
simple, and whose glorious portraits of Lady
Lyndoch, the wilful young beauty, and of the
Blue Boy, most sturdy of lads, surpass even
Reynolds in grace and nature.

Up the Orwell, here wide as an arm of the
sea, and snakily winding between flat muddy
reaches and broad sloping green meadows that
rise to woody uplands, we skim past Grimston
Hall, the birthplace of Thomas Cavendish, the
first Englishman who followed Drake's track
round the world. Cavendish fitted out three
.ships against the robbing and murdering Spaniards,
and sailed from Plymouth in 1586, six
years after Drake. He took great prizes,
among others an Acapulco galleon brimming
with gold, returned home in 1588, squandered
his money like a brave, foolish buccaneer as he
was, sailed forth again, greedy for more, tried
fortune too far, and died off the coast of Brazil
in 1592.

These estuaries breed sailors. A little further
up the Orwell stands Nacton, where
another man, brave and unfortunate as
Cavendish, once lived. Admiral Vernon was a
Staffordshire man, son of a secretary of state to
King William the Third. He had fought under
Rooke (which is naturally a very interesting
fact to the crow) at Malaga. After many great
services he sailed with a brave squadron to
South America, and all but destroyed Porto
Bello. In 1741, the fickle nation was enraged
at his repulse at Carthagena. On his return
home he was employed to patrol and guard the
Kent and Sussex coasts during the Pretender's
rebellion, but, acting in opposition to the
ministers, was suspended and struck off the list
of admirals. The London people illuminated
in his honour, and there were riots in
consequence. Walpole has constant mention of the
admiral and his factious supporters and
opponents. The Admiralty, however, never gave
him another chance.

The crow is now in Suffolk, and knowing what
he is about even there, drops upon Ipswich,
"the Eye of Suffolk," built so pleasantly on its
hill-slope, with a park at its brow, and a quay
at its foot. The channel of the Orwell is very
narrow between Nacton and Ipswich, and only
great energy and labour could have made it
navigable so far as twelve miles from the sea,
for vessels drawing thirteen feet of water. At
the lock hard by the town the Gipping joins
the Orwell.

In spite of Ransomes' factory, with its dozen
busy acres tenanted by one thousand workmen,
WOLSEY is the great name that haunts one in
Ipswich. This great Ipswich man, who all
but attained the Papacy, was born in this
pleasant Suffolk town in 1471, and was educated
in the Ipswich Grammar School. He went to
Magdalene College, Oxford, studied hard, and
became in one term fellow and tutor. In 1500,
while curate in Somersetshire, where he was
rather dissolute and wild, he is said to have been
on one occasion put in the stocks by Sir Amias
Pawlett, an indignity the proud priest never
forgot. When he came to be chancellor, years
after, he confined Sir Amias to the Temple,
and made him build, as a punishment, that
old house, now a hairdresser's, near the gate,
a little to the west of Chancery-lane. The
butcher's son soon working his way to court,
in 1508 became chaplain to Henry the Seventh,
and his ambassador to Brussels. His course
upward was then easy. Fox, Bishop of Winchester,
introduced Wolsey to the young King
Henry, in order to supplant the Earl of Surrey,
and Wolsey soon grew the king's boon
companion as well as minister. Flattering him
and sharing his pleasures, he grew so
indispensable that he was by turns made almoner to
the king, privy councillor, canon of Windsor,
registrar of the garter, dean of York, bishop of
Lincoln, archbishop of York, and chancellor.
The temporalities of Bath and Wells, Wor-
cester, and Hereford were given him, and first
the bishopric of Durham and then that of
Winchester. The Pope made him cardinal and
legate, the French king gave him a bishopric,
the French regent sent him a present of one
hundred thousand crowns; the emperor, in
compensation for his two disappointments of
the papacy (Julius the Second and Leo the
Tenth), awarded him a pension of nine
thousand crowns of gold and two bishoprics.
But the king's divorce from Katherine of Arragon
led to Wolsey's ruin. Anne Boleyn looked