28 A FARMER'S YEAR 



sorts of birds and wild things. In this attempt I think I ought 

 to be successful, since this warm slope, with the stream at its foot, 

 is already favoured by them, and beasts and birds very soon collect 

 where they find none to do them harm. Already there are otters 

 on the river, and I thought of putting down some badgers, but have 

 not done so, as I am told that they are somewhat destructive to 

 gardens. At least the birds, of which there are already many 

 varieties, will multiply, as the wood is not too deep for them 

 Birds do not like a large wood, and rarely build in its centre, 

 whence they have far to fly for food. 



By the foot of the Vineyard Hills, at a little distance from the 

 garden, stands the Lodge, a quaint red-brick residence of which 

 some part at least is very ancient. Indirectly this house is con- 

 nected with the famous French writer and politician, the Vicomte 

 de Chateaubriand, and directly with a young lady whom he admired 

 or who admired him. She was the daughter of the Reverend Mr. 

 Ives, who was rector of St. Margaret's, Ilketshall, but lived in 

 Bungay. This excellent shepherd of souls, by the way, is reported 

 to have been one of the hardest-headed men of his time, that is, 

 he could drink almost anybody else under the table. So great was 

 his fame that it excited the envy of a Duke of Norfolk of that day, 

 who also had a reputation to keep up. They met, they drank ; 

 bottle after bottle of port disappeared, till at length towards 

 midnight victory declared for the Church, and his conquered 

 Grace bowed and fell, yes, he slid senseless beneath the board. 

 Then came the marvel which, when he recovered, impressed the 

 J )uke so much that it moved him, so says the story, to present his 

 reverend victor with a living. Clear-eyed and steady, Mr. Ives 

 rose from his chair, rang the bell, ordered of the astonished butler 

 a glass of brandy and water ; hot and stiff after all the port, hot 

 and stiff, by Bacchus ! drank it, and strolled quietly home. 



This tale was told to me many years since by an aged gentle- 

 man now dead, and I have no doubt but that in substance, at any 

 rate, it is true. Seventy or eighty years ago even it does not seem 

 to have been common for the elite of the Bungay neighbourhood 



