y
practical one) consists of a useful pump for the supply of water.

[Illustration: The Medway at Maidstone]

After some luncheon at the Boar Inn, we are sorry to terminate our visit
to this pleasant place; but time flies, and trains, like tides, "wait
for no man." So we hurry to the railway station, passing on our way a
fine hop-garden, and take tickets by the London, Chatham, and Dover
Railway for Maidstone. We have a few minutes to spare, and our notice is
attracted to a curious group in the waiting-room. It consists of a rural
policeman, and what afterwards turned out, to be his prisoner, a
slouching but good-humoured-looking labourer, with a "fur cap" like
Rogue Riderhood. The officer leans against the mantelpiece, pleasantly
chatting with his charge, who is seated on the bench, leisurely eating
some bread and cheese with a large clasp-knife, in the intervals of
which proceeding he recounts some experiences for the edification of the
officer and bystanders. These are occasionally received with roars of
laughter. One of his stories relates to a house-breaker who, being
"caught in the act" by a policeman, and being asked what he was doing,
coolly replied, "Attending to my business, of course!" (This must surely
be taken "in a Pickwickian sense.") After finishing his bread and
cheese, the charge eats an apple, and then regales himself with
something from a large bottle. The unconcernedness of the man, whatever
his offence may be (poaching perhaps), is in painful contrast to the
careworn and anxious faces of his wife and little daughter (both
decently dressed), the latter about seven years old, and made too
familiar with crime at such an age. After we arrive at Maidstone (only a
few minutes' run by railway), it is a wretched sight to witness the
leave-taking at the gaol. First the man shakes hands with his wife, all
his forced humour having left him, and then affectionately kisses the
little girl, draws a cuff over his eyes, and walks heavily into the gaol
after the officer. We are glad to notice that he is not degraded as a
wild beast by being handcuffed. It was an episode that Dickens himself
perhaps would have witnessed with interest, and possibly stored up for
future use. What particularly strikes us is the difference in the
relations between these people and what would be the case under similar
circumstances in a large town. There is not that feature of hardness,
that familiarity with crime which breeds contempt,