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of record, if we could only unearth it, that upon our return home we searched with pleasurable trouble through several ancient archæological works and sundry dusty tomes, historical and otherwise, some of which we hunted up at certain much-frequented old bookstalls, and in this wise we discovered many interesting particulars concerning Westenhanger. It appears that it was once a royal demesne, it having belonged to Henry VIII. The fee of the manor seems to have continued vested in the Crown for a considerable period, for in Strype's Annals' it is recorded that 'Queen Elizabeth, during her progress through Kent in the year 1573, stayed at her own house of Westenhanger.' In the reign of Richard I. it was the manorial residence of Sir William de Auberville. Male issue failing, it was conveyed by marriage of his heiress to the Criols, one of whom, Sir Bertram, was Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports in the time of Henry III. Another member of this family, Sir Thomas, was killed at the battle of St. Albans. According to an old Kentish historian, John Philipott, 'In the seventeenth of Edward the third, John de Criol had a grant from the Crown, permitting him to embattle and make loop-holes in his mansion-house at Westenhanger, and two years afterwards, he had license to found a chantry in the Chapel of St. John's in his parish.' Quoting again from the same authority, we learn that ' In the twenty seventh of her reign, Elizabeth granted this Manor with its appurtenances . . . to Thomas Smith Esquire, a well-known farmer of the Port of London, who resided here and much enhanced the beauty of

the fabrick, which had been empaired and defaced with fire, by magnificent additions.' After this the estate appears to have passed through several hands, and eventually, we find, so grand and extensive was the mansion, that the keeping up such an expensive establishment brought more than one owner into difficulties, the most unfortunate result being that in the end the fine historic structure was actually pulled down and the materials sold. A Goth-like way settling a difficulty this, surely.

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After all of which it will be interesting to learn what Westenhanger was like in the heyday of its prosperity. This, then, is how we found it described in an old work: A seat of ancient grandeur. . . . The walls are both very high and of great thickness, the whole of them are embattled, and strengthened and fortified by nine massive towers, alternately round and square, having a gallery going throughout the whole from one to the other. It has a drawbridge, a gatehouse, and a portal, the arch of which is wide. and strong; this springs from six polygonal pillars, and possesses a portcullis. One of the towers, with an adjoining gallery 160 feet long, is called the Prison and Gallery of Fair Rosamond.' It would seem by this that there was some tradition connecting that frail beauty with this place. Then the old account goes on to say: In the mansion itself [over the entrance to which is a statue of St. George on horseback] are 126 chambers. The Hall is fifty feet long, and thirty-two wide, having a music gallery at one end, and a cloister at the other, which leads to the Chapel; this was built by Sir Edward Poynings, as

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appears by an inscription in the French language, inscribed on two stones, and ornamented with statues of St. Anthony, St. Christopher, and others. The court within the great gate is 130 feet square, and in the middle of it is a fine fountain.' The description of the fine old castellated mansion continues on, but I think I have quoted enough to show what a grand place it must have been, rivalling, it would appear to me, some of the most renowned seats in England. What a terrible pity it is that such a stately manorial residence, possessing both historic and traditional associations, should have been pulled down by the hand of man, and that all that remains of its former great glory should be three ruined towers and crumbling outer walls!

We wandered about the old ruins unmolested, for this is not a tourist-besieged spot, consequently there is no guide with his ready-made-up stories, that do duty so frequently for facts. But, after all, it is hardly fair to blame the characteristic race of guides they are but human, and if people who pay their money to see show places will have histories connected with them, well, their wants are duly provided. Such is the inevitable result of the law of supply and demand.

During the course of our explorations the farmer who now occupies the place came out-a stout, jovial-looking individual, ‘Punch's' John Bull personified. He bid us Good-day' by way of breaking the ice, after which we had a pleasant chat with him about the crops, the lowness of prices of agricultural produce, the present bad and the past

good times, together with the never-failing topic of weather.

Glancing over the ivy-covered walls and farmbuildings, to see if we could discover any remnants of carved work, or perchance a date (for we concluded that it was not improbable some of the old stones of the demolished portion of the castle had been employed in the later structures), we came upon a small dilapidated Gothic arch, once evidently a little gem, now much weathered and worn, but still retaining some traces of its former gracefulness— and this we discovered led to a pigstye! From the style of architecture and the class of workmanship we deemed that in all probability this old arch had in times past been a portion of a chapel, or perhaps of 'my lady's chamber.' A place for worship, or a room where fair dames of high degree in olden days resorted, now the mean abode of unclean swine. Truly both great and strange are the changes time brings about! A regal residence once, now its courts, trodden of old by gallant lords and stately ladies, are the home of the common kine, its crumbling, defenceless walls and dried-up moat serve but to enclose a lowly farmstead! The pomp and splendour of its past is a forgotten story. transit gloria mundi.

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Hythe-Sleepy Sandgate-Folkestone-Dover Castle-Old Roman Work-Upland Silence-St. Margaret's-at-Cliffe-Old Norman Church-Modern Smuggling-Country Byways A New Railway -Lyminge-Kentish Farms-Elham-Old Houses-Jokes in Wood and Enigmas in Stone-Dorringstone-The Restorer in his Glory.

LEAVING the solitary wayside inn, we drove on through a pleasant country, and after a time straight ahead of us we caught sight of a long gleaming line of white. We were once more nearing the sea: our position, high on an elevated upland, caused the ocean horizon to be high before us. Beyond the white line were a series of cloud-mountains; lighted up by the low-lying sun, they looked like a veritable chain of Alpine peaks, causing the sea to resemble a lake. The effect was very fine. Had we been actually looking upon snow-clad mountains, the prospect could hardly have been grander in a scenic sense; indeed, the deception was most complete, more like the reality than the original itself, as an Irishman might say.