whose memory I still
cherish an affectionate regard. To live in one of the best houses on the
Quay, and to lie in my bed and to see through the windows the masts of
the shipping, was indeed to a boy a treat.

A little while ago I chanced to be at Norwich, when the thought naturally
occurred to me that I would take a run to Yarmouth--a journey quickly
made by the rail. In my case the journey was safely and expeditiously
accomplished, and I hastened once more to revisit the scenes and
associations of my youth. Alas! wherever I went I found changes. A new
generation had arisen that knew not Joseph. The wind was howling down
the Quay; the sand was blown into my mouth, my nose, my ears; I could
scarcely see for the latter, or walk for the former; but, nevertheless, I
made my way to the pier. Only one person was on it, and his back was
turned to me. As he stood at the extreme end, with chest expanded, with
mouth wide open, as if prepared to swallow the raging sea in front and
the Dutch coast farther off, I thought I knew the figure. It was a
reporter from Fleet Street and he was the only man to greet me in the
town I once knew so well. Yes; the Yarmouth of my youth was gone. Then
a reporter from Fleet Street was an individual never dreamt of. And so
the world changes, and we get new men, fresh faces, other minds. The
antiquarian Camden, were he to revisit Yarmouth, would not be a little
astonished at what he would see. He wrote: 'As soon as the Yare has
passed Claxton, it takes a turn to the south, that it may descend more
gently into the sea, by which means it makes a sort of little tongue or
slip of land, washt on one side by itself, on the other side by the sea.
In this slip, upon an open shore, I saw Yarmouth, a very neat harbour and
town, fortified both by the nature of the place and the contrivance of
art. For, though it be almost surrounded with water, on the west with a
river, over which there is a drawbridge, and on either side with the sea,
except to the north, where it is joined to the continent; yet it is
fenced with strong, stately walls, which, with the river, figure it into
an oblong quadrangle. Besides the towers upon these, there is a mole or
mount, to the east, from whence the great guns command the sea (scarce
half a mile distant) all round. It has but one church, though very large
and with a stately high spire, built near the north gate by Herbert,
Bishop of Norwich.' In only one respect th