emoval of his large
family from Keswick to Rochester. In 1831 a five years' leave of absence
was granted; and we all came up by coach to this Mecca of my father's
love. We were three days and three nights on the road; and I remember
quite distinctly the square courtyard and outside balcony of the old
Belle Sauvage Inn, where we put up on our arrival in London. I remember,
too, the powerful scent of the Portugal laurel and the bay-tree which
grew on the right-hand side of Gad's Hill House as we entered--brought
out by the warm damp of the late autumn afternoon. In our time all the
outhouses had leaden figures on the top. There was a cupola with an
alarm bell, which one night was rung lustily, to the terror of the whole
neighbourhood, and the ashamed discovery among ourselves that rats were
not burglars. In the shrubbery were two large leaden figures of Pomona
and Vertumnus, standing on each side of the walk leading up to the
arbour. We had then two arbours--one opposite the house at the end of
the green walk, and another in a dilapidated state further in the
shrubbery. They were built of big flint stones, many of which had holes
in them, where small birds made their nests. I remember in one was a
tomtit which was quite tame, and used to fly in and out while we were
watching it. The two cedars, which I believe are still there, were a
little choked and overshadowed by a large oak-tree, which my father cut
down. Between seventy and eighty coaches, "vans," and mail-carts passed
our house during the day, besides private carriages, specially those of
travellers posting to or from Dover. Regiments, too, often passed on
their way to Gravesend, where they embarked for India; and ships'
companies, paid off, rowdy and half-tipsy, made the road really
dangerous for the time being. We used to lock the two gates when we
heard them coming, shouting and singing up the hill; and we had to stand
many a mimic siege from the blue-jackets trying to force their way in.
Sweet-water grapes grew and ripened in the open air over the wash-house;
and the back of the house was covered with a singularly fine and
luscious jargonelle pear. The garden was rich in apples. We had many
kinds, from the sweet and pulpy nonsuch, to the small tight little
pearmain and lemon pippin. We had nonpareils, golden pippins, brown and
golden russets, Ribstone pippins, and what we called a port-wine
apple--the flesh red, like that of the "blood-oranges." The small
orchar