At the other end of the room are two very fine Views of the River Thames, one at Billinsgate Market, the other before the alteration at London Bridge;—over one of these pictures is a Landscape by Bergham, and over the other a small but highly coloured picture, the Finding of Achilles at the Court of Lycomedes, said to be by Reubens.
From the drawing-room you proceed to the cabinet. The small pictures are by much the best; two or three Storms, by Vanderveldt, jun. in his best manner; Cows Stalled, by Sagtleven, Scheveling Market, and a small Landscape, by Paul Brill, are excellent; the trees of the latter are very finely touched.
Some of the larger pictures are very good, particularly two Views, by G. B. H. Busùri,—one of which is the Cascade of Terni.
The rest of the collection in this room is chiefly composed of Italian Landscapes, and small Views of Italian Ruins in opaque colours.
One of the best pictures in the house is at present set aside; it is an Italian Sea-Port in a Hazy Morning, every part of which is delicately expressed.
The pictures above stairs are of little worth, neither is there much else to attract the attention, except the library, which is fitted up with much gothic elegance and admirably corresponding with the old stile of building of the south front. The gloom thrown into the room by the stained-glass windows and the sombre hue of the wainscot, which is of its natural colour, make it a very proper retirement for study.
Two miles from Felbrigg stand the ruins of Beckham Old Church, which for its size is one of the most elegant things which fancy can imagine. The walls of the middle aisle and the chancel are standing, and, also, the south porch. Beautiful fragments of the old gothic windows, in different states of decay, are seen peeping through the ivy, which mantles in the most luxuriant manner over almost the whole of its mouldering walls.
It is rendered still more delicious by the sequestered spot in which it stands; there is but one house near it and that at such a distance as not to interfere with the loneliness of its situation; and though it must have been long, very long since its choir has rung responsive to the notes of the parish clerk, joined by the simple rustic swains, raised to the praise of their Creator, its little cemetery covered with turf remains the sacred repository of the dead, many of whose peaceful ashes lie shaded by the long arms of several venerable oaks. Here
“The mopeing owl does to the moon complain.”
Change the elms of Mr. Gray to oaks and his elegant poem exactly applies to Beckham Church Yard. [41]