When Larry and Den drew near the Nor'ard hills on their homeward way, dusk was drawing nigh, the flight-time of the fowl. As these rushed from the Essex shore to the flats remaining on the Kentish side-for the fowl worked to and fro-they no longer flashed over the crest of the hills in silence as they had been wont to do in times past; but, as our friends listened to them swiftly passing over, they heard hoarse calls and querulous pipings, laments, Denzil said, for their loved haunts that were being taken from them.

On reaching home, the two found that permission had arrived for them to shoot over about 500 acres of rough shooting in the island; or, properly speaking, in that part of the Isle of Sheppy that lay nearest to the town, which was about eight miles distant. As the railway then ran direct to Sheerness, Larry proposed that they should go by train there, and then walk from the railway station across country to their shooting-ground. Den could then see for himself all the alterations in the scenes of his old wanderings.

The morning was cold and bright, all that could be desired; but few fowl indeed were to be seen as they passed along, with the exception of a few strag

gling gulls. After getting out of the train, Den stood still for a while in amazement. Could this be the place where the broken jetty stood, looking always ready to be washed away? And a solid landingplace for the steamers had taken the place of the old sea-wall that was heavily timbered at the sides with huge driven piles covered with sea-weed tangle, where the great winkles hung thick as blackberries on a bramble bush; where the great eels had twisted about, visible at low water, and the crabs scuttled along in search of their food. As Denzil stood there, memory brought back the sight of a dead face turned up towards his own, that of a companion of his boyhood, whose body had been found in that gruesome spot, washed in there by the tide; and a change passed over his own face that was noted. by Larry.

"I know what's in your mind, Den-I see it too. But, there, come on; the old place used to be thriving enough, you know, in my grandfather's days, and it has woke up again like a giant refreshed. Look down the street where we used to see the grass growing amongst the stones. If that is not a change for the better I've no more to say."

They passed through the dockyard town, and made for the minster church a few miles distant. It was in that direction that their shooting lay, in the very heart of the marsh. There few alterations had as yet taken place; the large old water-butts still stood round the grey old church, their solid lids securely fastened down with padlocks as of old: rain-water had been considered a precious article by the few inhabitants of the hamlet near. From these large receptacles, water had, in dry seasons, been doled out carefully for drinking purposes. The natives did not care to use the water of the lagoons on the flats for washing even. It was impregnated with foul matter from the reeking swamps.

"Shoreland's horse's head still keeps his place on the old tower," observed Larry, pointing to the gilded figure that acted as weather-cock.

Close to this spot it was, according to our local traditions, told by the old crones, as well as recorded in the Ingoldsby legend, that the fatal order was given by the Lord of Shorelands-Shurland-to bring him his boots. From this, the highest portion of the Isle of Sheppy, they made their way down to the low ground. Before they had proceeded a mile, that red