e), and chain and badges of gold and
enamel (1875), the last-mentioned commemorating many historical
incidents connected with the city.

Emerging from the railway station of the London, Chatham and Dover
Company at Strood, a drive of a few minutes (over the bridge) brings us
to the first object of our pilgrimage, the "Bull Inn,"--we beg pardon,
the "Royal Victoria and Bull Hotel,"--in High Street, Rochester, which
was visited by Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Winkle, and
their newly-made friend, Mr. Jingle, on the 13th May, 1827. Our cabman
is so satisfied with his fare ("only a bob's worth"), that he does not,
as one of his predecessors did, on a very remarkable occasion, "fling
the money on the pavement, and request in figurative terms to be allowed
the pleasure of fighting us for the amount," which circumstance we take
to be an improving sign of the times.

Changed in name, but not in condition, it seems scarcely possible that
we stand under the gateway of the charming old inn that we have known
from our boyhood, when first we read our _Pickwick_, what time the two
green leaves of _Martin Chuzzlewit_ were putting forth monthly, and when
the name of Charles Dickens, although familiar, had not become the
"household word" to us, and to the world, that it is now.

[Illustration: Bull Inn Rochester Good house Nice beds. vide Pickwick.]

We look round for evidence--"Good house, nice beds"--"(vide _Pickwick_)"
appear on the two sign-boards fixed on either side of the entrance-gate.
Only then are we quite sure our driver has not made a mistake and taken
us to "Wright's next door," which every reader of _Pickwick_ knows, on
the authority of Mr. Jingle, "was dear--very dear--half a crown in the
bill if you look at the waiter--charge you more if you dine out at a
friend's than they would if you dined in the coffee-room--rum
fellows--very."

Haunches of venison, saddles of mutton, ribs of beef, York hams, fowls
and ducks, hang over our heads in the capacious covered gateway; cold
viands are seen in a glass cupboard opposite, and silently promise that
some good fare, like that which regaled Mr. Pickwick and his friends, is
still to be found at the Bull. In the distance is seen the large
old-fashioned coach-yard, surrounded by odd buildings, which on market
days (Tuesdays) is crowded with all sorts of vehicles ancient and
modern. On our right is the kitchen, "brilliant with glowing coals and
rows of shining copp