l stands, with a
generous margin of green surrounding it, and within its walls the fine
canopied tomb of Gervase Alard, admiral of the Cinque Ports. A short
distance down the road, south-east of the church, is the mansion known
as "The Friars": in its beautiful grounds stands practically all that
remains of the religious houses--the ivy-grown ruin of the chapel of
the Franciscan Monastery. With this mansion and with the brothers
Weston, the rogues who dwelt in it, all lovers of Thackeray's _Denis
Duval_ will doubtless be familiar. The gates of the town still frown
down on the approaching roads; but wall, castle, quays, all are gone,
and the place is now, to use Wesley's words, "that poor skeleton of
ancient Winchelsea".

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[Illustration: WINCHELSEA CHURCH]

The church, or a certain portion of it, still stands, with a generous
margin of green surrounding it, and within its walls the fine canopied
tomb of Gervase Alard, Admiral of the Cinque Ports.

(_See page 48_)

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And small wonder too, for every hand has been against it. At the time
of its building the Black Death made its appearance, destroying
countless inhabitants and dispersing the craftsmen. The town was
sacked by the French in 1359, when three thousand entered with sword
and torch. Again, in 1378, the same catastrophe occurred. In 1449
they visited once more, but did little damage. For by this time
another enemy had set to work--the worst enemy of all. The sea, which
in its inconstancy had made the new Winchelsea at the expense of the
old, was calmly receding and leaving the Antient Town high and dry,
with a perpetually increasing bank of shingle in between.

Now, as we stand at the Strand Gate, and watch the sea away to the
south, with its ever-changing pageant of azure and amethyst, and as we
turn about and enter through the old gate to walk the grass-grown
streets, we laugh at Neptune's jest; but there is something tragic in
the laughter.

RYE

Rye, as it stands, is the completest place in England. A little
conical hill rises abruptly out of the encompassing marshes, and all
around that little hill, wherever it can gain secure hold, clings the
town. The tall houses rest tier upon tier, as if standing on tiptoe to
get a better view of the approaching enemy; and the cobble-paved
streets wind in