But here is Tilbury. There are days, it would seem, when you cannot land at the fort, and are resisted at the landing-place by a protest of the sentry, backed by a stern look and a fixed bayonet. But fear not, zealous cockney! Let your boat drift a little to the left, and you will reach a hospitable haven, in a "hard," leading to a pleasant public-house, with green shrubberies, and a room commanding prospects far away over rich green meadows, to the forest-crowned hills of the remoter parts of Essex. Here shall you sit in a high-backed chair, wherein ('t is said) sat Elizabeth, when she ate her goose, and drank confusion to the Spanish Armada. "Eflavit Deus et dissipantur," says the Armada medal; "The breath of God went forth and they were dispersed," is the meaning of that pious legend. So we will have a cup of right good ale to the health of Elizabeth, or any other lady that may take our fancy at the moment, and then on to the fort of Tilbury. Henry the Eighth, who took great delight in the Thames and its banks, and who (as they tell us) from Erith sent out his Harry Grace de Dieu, first built this fort; or rather, we may suggest, repaired the old beacon-tower of Richard the Second, and made additions to it. Charles the Second erected the present fort, the oldest portion of which is the gateway, or block-house, before mentioned. It is at present but a poor protection to the mouth of a river, between whose shores floats the commerce of a world. Its armament consists of sixty dismounted guns, and a garrison of about sixty invalided veterans; the effective force being a corporal's guard, and a master-gunner. But

"Britannia needs no bulwarks,

Nor towers along the steep,"

So sings Campbell, whose soul-voice rings in these verses like a trumpet. Tilbury, however, was at no period of its history very strongly garrisoned; for, in Queen Elizabeth's time, the

ROSHERVILLE GARDENS.

expense of both this fort and that at Gravesend (now little more than a mound of earth) was £91 5s. each, yearly; there being in each a captain, two soldiers, one porter, and five grooms, or

servants.

In time of war, the entrance to the river is defended by a fleet lying at the Lower Hope; but, if necessary, Tilbury could be armed and manned in a couple of hours, by a few steam-boats, with stores and a garrison from Woolwich.

The wind freshens, and the evening air is cool; a boat has just come across, bringing the major who commands this veteran garrison, but who resides at Gravesend, of course having his garrison well under his eye-through a Dollond telescope. Let us take advantage of his return, and go back to Gravesend.

There is a very pleasant walk to the right of Gravesend, as you land at the pier. We turn down West Street, and proceed along by a row of new well-built houses, past the Clifton Baths, whose green banks present a pleasing prospect to the jaded eye of a Londoner. On our right lies the ever-changing prospect of the river-studded with sails and vexed with steamboats, crowned with thick garlands of black curling smoke. Further on we reach the delightful gardens of Rosherville,-a fairy scene, indeed, and

one of the prettiest and

TOWER AT ROSHER VILLE.

NORTHFLEET THE LIMEKILNS.

most artificially picturesque spots in England.

Taken as a zoological garden, a pleasure garden, a flower garden, or a "place of provend," it is certainly the beau-ideal of all that a "ruralizer" can desire.

Now, before us may be seen Northfleet, a village half creeping to the shore, about a mile from Gravesend: known to all visiters by its limekilns; which, both from land and water, invariably catch the eye as the leading feature in the landscape. The high chalkhills, the light curling smoke ever ascending-the vessels from

LIME KILNS, NORTHFLEET.

all parts and of all

kinds of rig, taking in

their dusty cargo of lime or bal

last the meadows and trees of

Greenhithe further on, and the low

long marshes stretching along the Essex shore opposite, all tend to make this scene most charming and soothing to the weary sojourner in London's pent-up city. Northfleet belongs to the diocese of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and, curiously enough, in an old Latin deed we find, that the possession of certain lands here binds him to repair the ninth pier on the western side of Rochester-bridge.

Just before we reach the village there will be seen, on our right hand, a formidable-looking castellated structure, which we

NORTHFLEET-ITS CHURCH-SPRINGHEAD,

should have taken for a mansion, at least, instead of a tier of ordinary houses, which it turns out to be. Opposite here, is a private dockyard; and in a few minutes' time we come up with the church, a commodious structure for so small a neighbourhood, exhibiting within much superfluous space. As we enter, we may bestow a glance upon the pendent roof, rather rudely carved, that covers the portion of the building not made use of, and then we will at once make our way into the body of the church. Here is a restored Piscina, and the remains of a Sedilia in the southern wall, and a large monument to Richard Crich. The oak screen that separates us from the chancel, is a fine specimen of its kind. The parishioners, we hear, have latterly set on foot a partial restoration of the building, and already, one or two bricked-up windows have been laid open to the light of day. It is on record, that in the chancel are disposed several fine brass monuments; which, however, are hidden from our sight by a boarded floor placed over them by the churchwardens, because the rector, from whose fees all expenses attached to the chancel should be defrayed, refuses to put its pavement into proper repair.

A fourth walk may be taken by crossing the cemetery, and proceeding some distance, when a turn to the left conducts the rambler, through fields and by hedgerows, to Springhead, a favourite resort of Gravesend visiters, and celebrated for its watercress plantation, nourished by a stream which meanders along some quarter of a mile of fruit and flower garden-ground. Forty years since, this trim-kept little rivulet struggled through a mesh of mud and rushes implanted in its bed. In this state it was when first noticed by a poor man named Bradbury, who was out upon the tramp in search of work during the harvest months, and had travelled into this part of Kent. He soon formed some speculations in his own mind for converting this stream into a means of livelihood for himself and family. He was friendless, with want before him, but he made bold to ask the owner of the land through which it ran, for permission to clear it, and grow watercresses in its bed. Naturally enough, he half feared for the result, for poor helpless man gets little assistance from his fellows; yet his request was granted, and early and late he toiled at his task.