Various, Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature…
“ Resuming their progress up the Bure, till St Benedict's Abbey is reached, where it was resolved to camp for the night, the Swan is run into a creek and made fast.Night comes on, the wind howling drearily; and nothing to be seen but stretches of lonely marshes, fading away into the distance behind the deserted ruins of the abbey, which occupy the foreground. A sense of loneliness is felt, but not one of our fresh-water tars cares to own it, and each tries to assume a cheerfulness he is far from feeling. ”
