THE FORTUNE OF WAR-GILLINGHAM FORT.

To the right of the Dockyard gateway, standing on a rising ground, is Melville Hospital, a receptacle, in time of sickness, for the marines stationed at Chatham, and for such of the artisans employed in the Dockyard who may be sufferers by accidents. Beyond is the town of Brompton, abounding with houses licensed for the sale of strong drinks, that rejoice in painted signs appropriate to such a martial locality. There is one, the "Fortune of War," exhibited in the person of a jolly soldier just returned from a campaign, who holds in his right hand a bag, evidently filled with gold, for the colour of the metal seems as if it had oozed through the pores of the canvass, a touch of imagination for which we give the artist full credit. There was one drawback, though, to the satisfaction we felt as we contemplated the immense wealth of the fortunate soldier, when we discovered that although he had gained gold in the service of his country, he was unluckily minus a leg. Exhibited in a parlour-window close by, we noticed a number of pamphlets detailing the horrors of war, and proving logically that there could be no war if men would refuse to enlist; as in that' case there would be no one to fight on either side, and ambitious potentates would be compelled to settle their differences between themselves by single combat. When this happy state of things is likely to be brought about, the Universal Peace Society, from whom these tracts emanate, offers no opinion. This respected body, although such strong advocates of peace, show themselves to be by no means deficient in courage in thus taking up their quarters in the very heart of this nursery for heroes.

If we pursue our walk towards the rising ground that overlooks the river, we soon reach the Brompton Barracks for the troops of the Artillery and East India Company's service; and further on, close to the water's edge, we come up with the Casemate Barracks, where invalided soldiers quietly pass their time, inhaling the fresh breezes of the sea, which are wafted hither over the low grounds of the Isle of Sheppy.

By the brink of the river, some distance to our right, is a red brick building, dignified by the name of Gillingham Fort. From a casual glance, we should take it to be of ancient date, did we not know that it was for the most part erected during the late war, at the time the fortifications of the Lines were extended. It stands

in his famed perambulation through Kent.

Some distance beyond is the village of Gillingham, a quiet, straggling hamlet, that in former times was of much greater note than at present; its neighbour, Chatham, having quite eclipsed its ancient importance, not a little of which was doubtless derived from Our Lady of Gillingham, whose fame was so great in the heyday of bigotry and superstition that numerous pilgrimages were regularly made to this spot. An unlucky circumstance, however, occurred to bereave the Lady of Gillingham of her miraculous power. This affair, somewhat quaintly detailed by old Lambarde, is thus described by a recent writer in more modern vernacular :

"The dead body of a man floating in the Medway, was cast ashore in the parish of Chatham, where it was buried, after due inquiry, by the churchwardens. The parish clerk who officiated at the funeral, retired home to rest; but a sense of oppression was upon him, and his sleep was disturbed and broken. About midnight, however, he fell into a more refreshing slumber, from which he was awakened by a loud knocking at his window. Still more inclined to sleep than to get up, he turned on his side, after asking in his roughest voice, who was there?' The answer sent a cold shudder through his frame. Being a holy man, he knew the solemn voice of Our Lady of Chatham, who commanded him to arise and follow her. He arose immediately, and came down into the street, where she awaited his coming, sitting on the steps of the door. A halo of glory was around her head, and he bent before her in reveMr. Mackay, in his entertaining volumes, "The Thames and its Tributaries."

OUR LADIES OF CHATHAM AND GILLINGHAM.

rential awe. Follow me, O clerk,' said she, for this day ye have buried beside my grave the corpse of a sinful man. He so offends my eyes by his ghastly grinning, that unless he be removed I can do no more miraculous workings in your town. That so great a calamity should not befall the poor people, take thou mattocks and pike, and come with me, take up the body and cast it again into the river.'

"Though the night'was cold and wet, and he was not accustomed to such labour, he procured mattocks, and followed her in silence. That he might not doubt her divine power, he noticed that wherever she placed her foot the grass immediately grew, and the flowers began to blossom, and at one place where she rested for awhile a whole garden of verdure and beauty started up around her. At last they arrived at the churchyard, which was a good distance from the clerk's house, where our Lady pointed out the spot of her own sepulture, and then that of the drowned man, telling the clerk to set to work immediately, and relieve her sainted ashes fron the ghastly presence of that sinful neighbour. The big drops of perspiration stood on the brow of the clerk. He could not speak to the being of another world, but he did her bidding in solemn silence. He dug for many hours, until he arrived at the coffin, our Lady looking on with a melancholy and dignified smile. She motioned him to open it, and take the body on his back, and cast it into the Medway. He did so. The corpse grinned horribly upon him, but he had no power to let it fall, and he walked away to the river's brink. He had the curiosity to look back, when he saw the figure of our Lady melting gradually away into the thin air, and seeming no more than the light silver mist that floats upon the mountain. With a violent effort he threw the corpse into the river: the water bubbled furiously: a ray of light danced cheerily above the grave of our Lady, and the clerk feeling his mind relieved from a load of sorrow, walked back to his own home, and slept comfortably till the morning. Anxious to know whether this occurrence were not a dream, he arose early and walked forth to the churchyard. He was convinced that it was no night vision, that he had indeed seen the virgin of Chatham, long before he arrived at that place; for, from his own door, all the way they had passed, he noticed the track of verdure where the unearthly feet had trodden,

SIIAKSPERE'S CLERK OF CHATHAM.

and the little parterre of flowers that still grew on the place where they had rested. From that day forth he was a calmer and a better man, and the townspeople long pointed with reverence to the little tufts of grass, the earthly witnesses of the miracle. But, alas! for Gillingham, it suffered by the good fortune of Chathamn. The body of the drowned man was wafted down by the stream, and found by a fisherman of that village. He took it ashore, and it was de cently buried in the churchyard. The Lady of Gillingham was wroth at the pollution, but caring less for the good people in whose parish she wrought miracles, or not having the good sense of the Lady of Chatham to apply for mortal aid in the removal of the nuisance, she withdrew her favour from the place for ever, her shrine lost its healing virtues, and the prayers of the faithful were of no avail."

15 By way of parenthesis, let us here remark that the foregoing allusion to the Clerk of Chatham has, doubtless, brought to the reader's mind a predecessor or successor of the above worthy whom Shakspere, in his second part of King Henry the Sixth, has introduced to us; and whose introduction is made the vehicle for some smart satire on the style of reasoning indulged in by the self-constituted leaders of an ignorant mob.

Cade. How now: who's there?

Smith. The Clerk of Chatham: he can write and read, and cast accompt. Cade. O monstrous !

Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies.

Cade. Here's a villain !

Smith. H'as a book in his pocket with red letters in 't.

Cade. Nay, then he is a conjuror.

Dick. Nay, he can make obligations and write court-hand.

Cade. I am sorry for 't: the man is a proper man, on mine honour: unless

I find him guilty he shall not die.-Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee: what is thy name?

Clerk. Emmanuel.

Dick. They use to write it on top of letters :-'T will go hard with you. Cade. Let me alone :-Dost thou use to write thy name? or hast thou a

mark to thyself, like an honest plain-dealing man?

Clerk. Sir, I thank God I have been so well brought up that I can write my name.

All. He hath confessed: away with him; he's a villain and a traitor. Cade. Away with him, I say: hang him with his pen and inkhorn about his neck. [Exeunt some with the CLERK. Over the pointed arch of the west entrance to Gillingham

GILLINGHAM CHURCH-NORMAN FONT ARCHIEPISCOPAL PALACE.

church may still be seen the niche that formerly contained the statue of the famous Lady of Gillingham. The figure itself was doubtless demolished during the attack made on the papistic orna ments of this church at the time of the Commonwealth, when all the rich painted glass and elegant monuments were destroyed. One relic, however, escaped; this was a ponderous stone font of Norman workmanship, large enough to allow a child to be immersed within

joining the chancel of Gillingham church, has been recently cleared out, and several monuments brought to light of some interest to the archæologist.

One glance to the south of the churchyard impresses us with the fact that with the ancient enslaving superstitions, the temporalities of former times have likewise passed away. Yonder dilapidated barn, and those rude walls, are all that remain of the magnificent Archiepiscopal Palace that lodged several generations of English primates in days when the Church disputed power with the mightiest nobles of the land, and even with the sovereign himself. Of all tyrannies, the tyranny of bigotry under the name of religion is the most hateful. Happily, in our times, throughout the civilized world, priestcraft bids fair to be for ever overthrown; and as for ourselves, we live in that state of security which, to have purchased, had been of itself worth all the terrible cost of the civil war between Charles and his people, had it yielded us no other beneficial fruits.

The old Chronicles make mention of a battle that was fought at Gillingham between Edmund Ironside and Canute the Dane. It was after this that Edmund made the chivalrous proposition to