re Dickens was seized with
the attack which resulted in his sudden and unexpected death. After a
glimpse of other parts of the house and garden surrounding it, the maid
conducted us through an underground passage leading beneath the road, to
the plot of shrubbery which lay opposite the mansion. In this secluded
thicket, Dickens had built a little house, to which in the summer time
he was often accustomed to retire when writing. It was an ideal English
June day, and everything about the place showed to the best possible
advantage. We all agreed that Gad's Hill alone would be well worth a
trip from London. The country around is surpassingly beautiful and it is
said that Dickens liked nothing better than to show his friends about
the vicinity. He thought the seven miles between Rochester and Maidstone
the most charming walk in all England. He delighted in taking trips with
his friends to the castles and cathedrals and he immensely enjoyed
picnics and luncheons in the cherry orchards and gardens.

A very interesting old city is Rochester, with its Eleventh Century
cathedral and massive castle standing on the banks of the river. Little
of the latter remains save the square tower of the Norman keep, one of
the largest and most imposing we saw in England. The interior had been
totally destroyed by fire hundreds of years ago, but the towering walls
of enormous thickness still stand firm. Its antiquity is attested by the
fact that it sustained a siege by William Rufus, the son of the
Conqueror. The cathedral is not one of the most impressive of the great
churches. It was largely rebuilt in the Twelfth Century, the money being
obtained from miracles wrought by the relics of St. William of Perth, a
pilgrim who was murdered on his way to Canterbury and who lies buried in
the cathedral. Rochester is the scene of many incidents of Dickens'
stories. It was the scene of his last unfinished work, "Edwin Drood,"
and he made many allusions to it elsewhere, the most notable perhaps in
"Pickwick Papers," where he makes the effervescent Mr. Jingle describe
it thus: "Ah, fine place, glorious pile, frowning walls, tottering
arches, dark nooks, crumbling staircases--old cathedral, too,--earthy
smell--pilgrims' feet worn away the old steps."

Across the river from Rochester lies Chatham, a city of forty thousand
people and a famous naval and military station. The two cities are
continuous and practically one. From here, without further stop, we