virtues, is said to have been brought into England, and first grown in Essex and Cambridgeshire in the reign of Edward III. The soil which is considered the best for its growth is a moderately dry mould, such as commonly lies upon chalk. About the beginning of April, it is carefully ploughed, the furrows being drawn much closer together, and deeper, if the soil will allow it, than is done for any kind of corn. In May, the land is well manured with about twenty or thirty loads of good rotten dung per acre, which is carefully spread and then ploughed in. About midsummer it is ploughed the third time, and between every sixteen and a half feet is left a broad furrow, which serves both as a boundary to the several parcels, and for throwing the weeds into, as occasion may require. The plants are usually set in July. From that time till September, or sometimes later, no more labour is required. About the beginning of that month they begin to spire, when the ground is carefully pared with a sharp hoe, and the weeds are raked into the furrows. The flowers appear shortly after, and are gathered, when in a proper state, early in the morning. The owners of the saffron fields get together a sufficient number of hands, who pull off the whole flowers, carrying them home in baskets. They then pick out the three yellow chives, which are the middle of the flower, with a considerable proportion of the style or string to which they are attached the rest of the flower is thrown away. Next morning they return to the field, without regarding whether the weather be wet or dry, and so on daily till the crop is gathered. The chives are dried between sheets of white paper, on a kiln made for the purpose, in which process they are said to lose four-fifths of there original weight, and the plantation is renewed every three years. So exceedingly rich was the ground when the growth of this plant was given up, that it is said to have wanted no further manure for more than fifteen years." I must leave the reader to continue my quest of the Ends of Essex for I have not room to give many sketches of these quaint corners of the county. Space, I see, is rapidly giving out and I must at least sketch one of the old courtyards of Saffron Walden, an amazing place that seems once to have been connected with a brewery. I should like, too, before closing to thank those people, too numerous to name, who have helped me in one way and another in my adventurous travels up and down the county, from the landowner who has allowed me to roam at will over his estates to the cheery motorist who has time and again given me a lift. I have suffered often from the enormous size of my sketch-book, which suggests to the motorist at a distance that he is approaching a sandwich man, and before he has realized that he is in touch with a being who is out to immortalize his county, his car, and possibly himself, he has sped well into the distance. To other people who have written to me-and got no answer! -the warmest of thanks. As these travels with a sketchbook cover more counties the correspondence grows in volume. From Kent, Surrey, and Sussex I have received a whole library of information. I am really grateful for this, and it may be of very great service in further editions of these books, and the writers will readily understand how impossible it is to write to them at any length in reply. The "Cross Keys " is an ancient house and a delight to the eye, and the "Sun," with its quaint figures in relief and other plaster decoration, is a fine survival of the town in its busier days. I have made a rough sketch on this page. Then I must take you out of the town, after visiting the sunny places of Bridge End Gardens, which by the goodwill of Mr. Fry are always accessible, though I believe privately owned, and on the road to Hadstock. On the left we pass a delightful old mansion at "Little Walden Park," a quick note of which I have scribbled on the page opposite, and then where the land rolls up in a gentle swell to a crest we find ourselves looking over into Cambridgeshire, and are marching downhill towards the infant River Cam. A few thatched cottages with sunny-white walls, and we are in the village -the last village in Essex, for at the other end of the straggling street we find ourselves in Cambridgeshire. And so with great reluctance I must put away my sketch |