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165

from galvanic batteries; boats keep coming in
constantly to the shore, crammed, some with fish
of all sorts, from turbot to herring, some with
a scarcely less miscellaneous cargo of excur-
sionists, and it is a point of honor among all
the small boys and not a few of the grown-up
children, to lend hand and tongue in hauling them
to land; a little further off, but in full view, a
[trapeze, in italics] is erected, upon which some village Leotard
of dauntless breast is risking his neck for a few odd
coppers. The whole scene is as noisy and animated
as a race-course or a fair, and Yarmouth is in con-
sequence very popular with a large class of pleasure
seekers. This season has not been a favourable one,
but during the last is said to have been an ave-
rage of 15,000 visitors, exclusive of the excursionists,
who, notwithstanding the size of the town and its
broad acres of "furnished apartments," were now
and then driven to sleep in bathing machines or
even in the open air. In addition to the cheap ex-
cursion trains, which are very numerous, steamers
ply here from London and other places at sur-
prisingly low fares, and are crowded with passengers.
Just now, in consequence of the rough weather,
there is a perfect forest of masts seeking shelter in
the Yarmoputh Roads. At first, in my ignorance of
the topography, I could not make out what consti-
tuted the shelter, or why so many vesssels were all
huddled together, apparently as defenceless as a
flock of sheep, and only waiting for a gale strong
enough to drive them ashore. But my attention was
directed to a long line of white foam, some distance out
at sea, encircling the roadstead like a belt, and mark-
ing the spot at which the force of the waves is
checked by a natural breakwater of sand. It looks
well sparkling in the sun, and is, on the whole, un-
commonly useful; but still, it has worked in its day
enogh havoc to invest it with a painfully tragic
interest. To those who know its history no
crowded graveyard or bone-strewed battle-field
speaks more tellingly of death than that pretty,
innocent-looking belt of white laughing foam.
Countless vessels have been dashed to pieces against
the sandbanks beneath it. There is a tradition
that in a famous storm last century more than
a thousand lives were lost there in one day; but, not
to go so far back, only ten years ago 13 vessels
were wrecked upon it, one after another, in broad
daylight, while the spectators stood on the beach
wringing their hands in agonies of helpless pity, and
not a man was saved.

I have left myself no space to do Lowestoft
justice, but, happily, its "praise is hymned by
loftier harps than mine," nor is there very
much to be said about it, though whatever is
said ought to be unreservedly in its favor.
I refer only to the new town, which sprang
up with mushroom rapidity some twenty years
ago, under the auspices of its tutelary deity,
Sir Morton Peto, and is still rapidly extending its
handsome borders. The old town of Lowestoft is
much in the same style as Yarmouth, except that
it is not only quaint but also picturesque, half the
houses - the better half - looking down, in a patro-
nizing sort of way, from the brow of an irregular
cliff upon their humbler brethren on the shore, and
communicating with them by steep narrow alleys,
called "scores," and bearing a distant family likeness
to the Yarmouth Rows. But the new town is com-
pletely separated from the old; the mouth of
Lake Lothing (named, it is said, after Lothbrook,
the Dane) lies between them, only to be crossed by
a swinging bridge, and there is nothing to tempt
excursionists in search of noise or fun to cross it.
Hence the Newtonians form a very quiet and pre-
eminently select colony, daily thanking Sir Morton
Peto that they are not like the people of adjacent
watering-places - such, to wit, as Yarmouth. Every-
thing about them, be it due to Nature or to
Art, is not only pretty , but what is obviously
more important, in good taste. The shore,
crowned by a pretty cliff, not pretentiously
rugged or steep, bends itself, accomodatingly into
the most graceful of beauty's lines; the broad ex-
panse of sand, unadulterated by plebeian shingle,
looks pure, crisp, clean, and neat as any Quakeress;
the architecture is at once simple and elegant; its
unwonted uniformity of style suggesting the sway
of some one despotic architect; the little harbour,
turned almost into an inland lake by two converging
piers, is a model in miniature of what all harbours
should be. Even the local fish-market, the last shrine
in which one would expect to find Fashion throned,
cannot escape the general infection of prettiness,
and look better than many an ambitious villa at
other places. If pretty and stylish surroundings
impart bliss, happy indeed ought to be the Lowes-
toftians. If any fault could be found with such a
paradise, I shold venture to think that it was dull;
but then its Adams and Eves, to do them justice,
evidently come prepared for dulness, make no
effort to escape from it by public dancing or pos-
turing at Assembly Rooms or croquet, but
contentedly resign themselves to watching the
little Cains and Abels fighting over their sand
fortress on the beach, and reflect with exultation
that they are on the easternmost point of the east-
ern coast of England. This is the proud distinc-
tion of Lowestoft, and one of the secrets of its
salubrity for those whose constitution it suits. It
also claims to be the dryest spot in England. These
merits must be set off against its dulness, though
even its dulness is not admitted by all its admirers.
A very intelligent fellow-traveler assured me that
for those who are fond of long boating excursions up
rivers there is not such another place in England.
He calculates that, starting from Lowestoft, at least
200 miles of good sailing can be got in various
directions inland, and goes out himself in a boat,
fitted up for the purpose, for three weeks at a time,
sleeping on board, and enjoying all the delights of a
perpetual picnic. The genuine adventurous yachts-
man will perhaps despise this as poor sport, since it
affors no chance of drowning, sea-sickness, or even
temporary starvation, as you are always within easy
reach of at least farmhouse bacon, new milk, and
fresh eggs. But those who can forego these chances
might perhaps be glad to try Lowestoft.

ALPHA

The Lowestoft Journal.

[Jan.12 1878 handwritten]

LOWESTOFT.

THE LATE R. C. FOWLER, Esw., J.P.,
GUNTON HALL.

We have this day to record the decease of
this much esteemed gentleman, who, until com-
paratively recently, took a very lively interest
in everything that concerneds the prosperity of
the town and neighborhood, and whose loss,
from the position he occupied and the influence
he exerted, will be greatly regretted. The
name of Fowler has long been an honored one
in this locality, and the mother of the deceased
who died at Old Hall, a few years since, was
expecially noted for he charities. Mr. Fowler
was born in 1800, and was consequently in his
78th year. When a young man he connected
himself with the old H.E.I.C.S., and spent a
tolerably active period of some extent therein.
On his retirement he came to reside in this
neighbourhood, and for many years exerted a
most beneficial influence by the weight of his
personal character, and the high appreciation in
which he was held. Among the public offices
which for a long period he sustained were those
of Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates, and
also of the Borad of Guardians. He also took a
lively interest in the Mutford and Lothingland
Hospital and Dispensary, the Savings' Bank, and
other philanthropic institutions. A sound
Protestant and a consistent Churchman, he
also actively espoused the cause of the Church
Missionary, Pastoral Aid, and other kindred so-
cieties, frequently taking the chair at their
annual meetings. Of the Bible Society he was
also a warm supporter, and very few institutions
that had for their object the bettering of his
fellow-creatures but what had his sympathy.
Nor was Mr. Fowler wanting in patriotism, for
as soon as the Volunteer movement originated in
1860, he at once identified himself with it, and
became the first captain of the 1st Suffolk Volun-
teer Artillery, his annual subscription to which
he continued as long as he lived. We believe it
may be safely asserted that he scarcely ever made
an enemy, owing to his retiring and benevolent
disposition, which his friends were most abun-
dant, and although from his gradually increasing
feebleness he has not of late been able to make
much appearance in public, yet he has carried
with him to his grave the character and the vir-
tues of a real old English gentleman.