THE COTTAGE GARDENER AND COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, June 7, 1859. 
140 
cloudless sky, and in the music borne from them on the breeze, the 
distance-mellowed treble tinkling of the bell which the leader of 
a black-faced and black-footed flock bears proudly. 
But these were soon out of sight and hearing. The train, 
speeding on through tunnels and past stations, giving us a 
momentary glimpse of that marvellous treasure-house of beauty 
which has made Sydenham a “ household word ”—stopped in a 
little while at the “ Reigate junction.” 
A short delay here, and we were steaming through one of Eng¬ 
land’s fairest gardens. All around us lay a Kentish landscape, 
with its meadows—seas of rich grass; its hedgerows; cottages 
and cottage gardens, unmatched in the kingdom ; here and there 
a littlo wood and water; while far and near were Hop-gardens, 
with their dazzling ranks of poles, standing bare of clinging foliage 
yet, except the little that made the lower portion green, and 
seeming to spin round from the pace at which we went. I should 
not have complained if we had gone a little slower past that Rose- 
covered station of which I caught sight as we flew by. Had we 
even stopped,—a3 trains will sometimes stop mysteriously, and 
to most of their passengers tediously long,—a few miles further 
on, no murmur of impatience would have escaped us. Amid 
scenery, charmingly illustrative of its specific name, stood the 
station of “ Penshurst,” well known to us in our school, or 
rather holiday, boy days. I had fished in the Medway and 
Eden which water its meadows, and cricketed in the noble park 
surrounding the castle of the Sidneys, long before the road 
had yielded to the rail; and when the yellow chariot took us to 
the coach instead of to the train. I had gazed, as a child, with 
rather more alarm and aversion than pleasure at the family por¬ 
traits in the castle—such grim men, and such stiff, uncomfortable¬ 
looking ladies and children, seemed the descendants of the 
courtly Philip. But when those old times came back, at the 
sight of that printed board, even they .were welcomed as old 
friends. “ Tonbridge.” We were wont, long ago, to pass through, 
outside the coach, and to see all the objects of pablic interest in 
this old town. But on that summer day, sitting inside the 
carnage of the train, we passed it by. We lingered past for a 
few minutes, and these were sufficient to enable us to exhaust the 
subject before us. There was a refreshment room, convenient but 
not picturesque, at the station; in the distance an accumulation 
of bricks and mortar, a church, et preeterea nihil. 
Surely our children, railway-travellers for life, will know but 
littlo about the towns of England! 
Paddock Wood, the junction of the Maidstone branch, was 
reached and left behind. Another “ hurst ” was passed, and 
soon our tram arrived at “ Ashford.” We had stopped here some 
time, and changed trains. On our again starting, I found myself 
with a companion. Opposite me was a hale gentleman, who told 
me that he lived “ in the Marsh.” 
The church tower being noticed by me as a good object in the 
view from the railway, he replied—“ Yes, there’s a curious story 
about that church. They say that it and two others in the 
county (Lydd and Tenterden) were built at the same time by a 
master-builder, his apprentice, and a journeyman, respectively; 
and that the building of these churches was the cause of the Good¬ 
win Sands.” Before I could inquire further about this legend, 
my informant had alighted at his destination in the Marsh. Here 
the word “ dore,” spoken with that attention to the r, so notice¬ 
able in this part of the country, was all that met my ears ; but 
Bradshaw filled up the omission, and gave me “ Appledore.” 
A long ride through the Marsh. White sheep on a green 
ground, post and rail fences, and narrow ditches, being the most 
striking features in the landscape, brought us to the station of a 
town bearing a name corresponding with that on my ticket, which 
I heard unabridged, its shortness scarcely admitting of division. 
Here I emerged from the train, which was soon out of sight, 
leaving mo standing on the platform in the company of the 
station-master, who looked—as country station-masters do—ns if 
he had been fetched unexpectedly from his concealment; three 
other passengers, two of whom, by their frock-coats, ungloved 
hands, and sunburnt faces, I took to be captains of merchant 
vessels, the other an evident commercial; and the usual charac¬ 
ters to be observed at such places on such occasions, to whom 
the arrival of a train, with or without passengers, appears to be a 
source of never-lessening amusement. Surrendering half my 
return-ticket, and leaving these last, who wondered what I was— 
my costume and equipment were such as I thought suitable to 
the occasion—I strolled through the lower part of the town. 
It is one of the “ Cinque Ports,” or “ Ancient Towns,” not 
unpicturesquely situated on a slight eminence, showing on the 
south side plain traces of the action of the sea in former days; 
but sloping on the others down to rich meadow lands, 
“ A league of grass, wash’d by a slow, broad stream.” 
Having passed through a stone gateway, one of the few which 
still stand in this neighbourhood—relics of England’s national 
defences at the time when the forefathers of her Crimean and 
Indian heroes stood at loopholes armed with crossbow and belt— 
the vast expanse of marsh, which I had skirted on my way by 
rail, lay in the sun before me; thousands of acres of sheep-fatten¬ 
ing grass land, diversified only by here and there a solitary house, 
or small cluster round a village church; a few corn fields at this 
season varying little from the green of the surrounding meadows ; 
a golden patch or two of turnips planted for seed ; and a tidal 
river on its way to the sea. The sea itself was not far off—a mile 
and a half, perhaps, “ as the crow flies.” 
At the place from which I saw it now were two or three mari¬ 
time-looking men, indulging on shore their deck-pacing habits; 
to whom I applied for information respecting the fishing I had 
come to see. I learnt from them that the nets, by which the 
capture is effected, are called “kiddle” or “kettle” nets: 
further, that they would be fished in about two hours. Having 
also received directions for the way, I betook myself leisurely to 
the ferry ; which crossed, I found my route lay along an artificial 
embankment running for some distance parallel with the river ; 
then a turn to the left brought me to a road at the edge of u 
considerable extent of shingle, separated only by a fence from the 
Marsh meadows. Upon this otherwise-barren surface flourished 
luxuriantly hundreds of Horn Poppies, sunning their fragile 
golden blossoms. Eurther on rose irregular banks of sand hiding 
from my view the sea, which I could hear drawing off the beach 
with a monotonous sound as of a heavy rake being slowly dragged 
through the loose stones. 
A charming place this!—sandbanks, with the little valleys 
between them, and the nooks and corners there, suggestive of 
pleasant pic-nics, all covered by the growth of a tough kind of 
grass, something like a rush, that has kept the sand from being 
blown over the adjacent country. 
Thousands of rabbits have their homes in .these banks; larks, 
ascending and descending, kept up that day a stream of music 
between earth and sky ; there were warm spots whore the yellow 
Galium grew, a natural “ field of the cloth of gold ;” while the 
sea Convolvulus found a genial resting-place for its delicate petals 
on the soft dry sand. 
Crossing here, the sea was before me; the mouth of the harbour 
in the foreground filled up the north-eastern corner of the bay ; 
and at regular intervals along the western coast stood the grey 
Martello Towers. 
From this spot, at about half a mile along the coast to the east¬ 
ward, I could see with my glass what appeared to be the tops of 
a row of poles extending from the shore some distance out into 
the sea. 
Conjecturing that these were what I was in search of, I made 
at once for them along the sea-side of the sandbanks. Passing a 
coastguard station, I came upon a settlement with the appearance 
of having been commenced with one building, which had grown 
into a little group, all connected by a common interest, and all 
devoted to a common purpose. 
There were many signs of fishing, in boats and fragments of 
Inputs, out-liouses roofed with boats, nets and fragments of nets, 
and in the general air of the residents ; some of whom were stand¬ 
ing about the place, now and then casting an inquiring glance in 
the direction of the “ kiddle” nets.— G. R. T. 
( To he continued.') 
VARIETIES. 
Female Cultivatohs of the Soil. —According to the census 
of 1841 there w r ere then 66,329 women above twenty years of 
age employed in agriculture, without reckoning the widow- 
farmers (who are no# few), or the farmers’ wives. The late 
census gives 128,418 as the number so occupied, exclusive of the 
“farmers’ wives,” and “farmers’ daughters,” who are specially, 
but, perhaps, not completely returned as being 289,793. Of the 
independent female agricultural labourers, about one-half or above 
64,000, arc dairywomen. Neither in America, nor anywhere 
else, would dairy work be objected to a3 a feminine employment, 
conducted within doors, as it is, and requiring feminine qualities 
for its management: yet it is harder work, and more injurious 
