ard, where a plain police
omnibus was in waiting with an escort of eleven men. In this the
prisoner took his seat, and was driven through the Victoria Tower
gate _en route_ for Newgate. He accompanied his custodians as quietly
as if they were conducting him to his brougham, and only once broke
the silence of the journey to Newgate.

"It's very hot," he said, as he panted along the passages of the
House of Commons, "and I am so fat."

CHAPTER V.

WITH PEGGOTTY AND HAM.

A careful survey of the map of Kent will disclose Lydd lying within
four miles of the coast, in the most southerly portion of the
promontory tipped by Dungeness. Lydd has now its own branch line
from Ashford, but when I first knew it the nearest point by rail on
one hand was Folkestone, and on the other Appledore. Between these
several points lies a devious road, sometimes picking its way
through the marshes, and occasionally breaking in upon a sinking
village, which it would probably be delightful to dwell in if it
did not lie so low, was not so damp, and did not furnish the
inhabitants with an opportunity for obtaining remarkably close
acquaintance with the symptoms of the ague. Few of the marsh towns
are more picturesque than Lydd, owing to the sturdy independence
shown by the architects of the houses, and to the persistent and
successful efforts made to avoid anything like a straight line in
the formation of the streets. The houses cluster "anyhow" round the
old church, and seem to have dropped accidentally down in all sorts
of odd nooks and corners. They face all ways, and stand at angles,
several going the length of turning their backs upon the streets and
placidly opening out from their front door into the nearest field.

In the main street, through which her Majesty's cart passes, and
along which all the posting is done, a serious attempt has made at
the production of something like an ordinary street. But even here
the approach to regularity is a failure, owing to some of the houses
along the line putting forth a porch, or blooming into a row of
utterly unnecessary pillars before the parlour windows. In short,
Lydd, being entirely out of the tracks of the world, cares little for
what other towns may do, and has just built its houses where and how
it pleased. Between Dungeness and Lydd there is an expanse of shingle
which makes the transit an arduous undertaking, and one not to be
accomplished easily without the aid of "backstays" (pron