been already suggested that
the neighbourhood of Kit's Coty House probably gave rise to the famous
archaeological episode of the stone with the inscription--"Bill Stumps,
his mark," in _Pickwick_, which occurred near here, rivalling the "A. D.
L. L." discovery of the sage Monkbarns in Scott's _Antiquary_.

Time presses with us, so, after a refreshing cup of tea, we just have a
hasty glance at the beautiful old church, which contains some splendid
examples of monumental brasses, which for number and preservation are
said to be unique. They are erected to the memory of John Cobham,
Constable of Rochester, 1354, his ancestors and others.[37] There are
also some fine old almshouses which accommodate twenty pensioners. These
almshouses are a survival of the ancient college. We then take our
departure, returning through Cobham woods.

Turning off at some distance on the left, and passing through the little
village of Shorne, with its pretty churchyard, a very favourite spot of
Charles Dickens, and probably described by him in _Pickwick_ as "one of
the most peaceful and secluded churchyards in Kent, where wild flowers
mingle with the grass, and the soft landscape around, forms the fairest
spot in the garden of England"--we make for Chalk church. It will be
remembered, that the first number of _Pickwick_ appeared on the 31st
March, 1836, and on the 2nd of April following Charles Dickens was
married, and came to spend his honeymoon at Chalk, and he visited it
again in 1837, when doubtless the descriptions of Cobham and its
vicinity were written. To this neighbourhood, "at all times of his life,
he returned, with a strange recurring fondness."

[Illustration: Shorne Church]

Mr. Kitton has favoured me with permission to quote the following
extract from his Supplement to _Charles Dickens by Pen and Pencil_,
being the late Mr. E. Laman Blanchard's recollections of this pleasant
neighbourhood:--

"In the year Charles Dickens came to reside at Gad's Hill, I took
possession of a country house at Rosherville, which I occupied for some
seventeen years. During that period a favourite morning walk was along
the high road, of many memories, leading from Gravesend to Rochester,
and on repeated occasions I had the good fortune to encounter the great
novelist making one of his pedestrian excursions towards the Gravesend
or Greenhithe railway station, where he would take the train to travel
up to town. Generally, by a curious coincidence,