to the Gosport side, to visit the Royal Clarence
Victualling Establishment, which papa said was once called Weovil. Here
are stored beef and other salted meats, as well as supplies and
clothing; but what interested us most was the biscuit manufactory. It
seemed to us as if the corn entered at one end and the biscuits came out
at the other, baked, and all ready to eat. The corn having been ground,
the meal descends into a hollow cylinder, where it is mixed with water.
As the cylinder revolves a row of knives within cut the paste into
innumerable small pieces, kneading them into dough. This dough is taken
out of the cylinder and spread on an iron table, over which enormous
rollers pass until they have pressed the mass into a sheet two inches
thick. These are further divided and passed under a second pair of
rollers, when another instrument cuts the sheets into hexagonal
biscuits, not quite dividing them, however, and at the same time
stamping them with the Queen's mark and the number of the oven in which
they are baked. Still joined together, they are passed into the ovens.
One hundredweight of biscuits can be put into one oven.

On the Gosport side we went over some of the forts, which are of great
extent. The longest walk we took was to Portsdown Hill, for the sake of
visiting the Nelson Monument. On it is an inscription:--

To the Memory of
Lord Viscount Nelson.
By The Zealous Attachment Of All Those Who
Fought At Trafalgar--To Perpetuate
His Triumph And Their Regret.
mdcccv.

We had a magnificent view from the top of the monument, looking
completely over Gosport, Portsmouth, and Southsea, with the harbour at
our feet, and taking in nearly the whole line of the Isle of Wight, with
the Solent, and away to the south-east, Saint Helen's and the English
Channel. Later on we pulled five miles up the harbour, to Porchester
Castle, built by William the Conqueror. For many centuries it was the
chief naval station of the kingdom, modern Portsmouth having sprung up
in the reign of Henry the First, in consequence of Porchester Harbour
filling with mud.

It was here, during the war with Napoleon, that several thousands of
French prisoners were confined, some in the castle, and others on board
the bulks. They, of course, did not like to be shut up, and many
attempting to escape were suffocated in the mud. They were but scantily
supplied with provisions, though they were not actually starved; but a
Fr