While thus harping on this string ecclesiastical with reference to matters archæological, I may mention that in this "fifth quarter of the globe" we still boast two notorious specimens of the deserted dwellings of the happily almost extinct tribe of non-resident Incumbents of well-paid livings. As Archdeacon of the Marsh I am thankful to be able, on the other hand, and by way of contrast, to point to the example of others of my clerical brethren, who, often under circumstances of no small personal discouragement and difficulty, stand bravely to their post, where the Bishop of souls has placed them, faithful to the trust of souls committed to their care.

Are any of you artists as well as archæologists? If only the weather favour us, you will scarcely need Mr. Champneys' charming book* to introduce you to the picturesque effects of pasture land and dyke scenery. Our Kentish Holland lacks, I fear, its Cuyp and Wouvermanns, but Mr. Champneys in his able word-and-pencil sketches has done something to shew us what a painter might here achieve out of very simple materials. Even such an one as I, who have no artistic tinglings in my finger tips, have more than once felt myself stirred to admire the poetry of a Marsh landscape. True, it has fallen to my lot to view it through a thick veil of mist, and in drenching rain, as well as in one of the heaviest gales of the last ten years. At such times the picturesque side of the prospect comes scarcely uppermost.

But take our Roman-ey, this Romney Marsh of ours, in one of its calmer, brighter, happier moods. The sun, let us say, is hasting to his setting over Fairlight, and the shadows are slowly lengthening out Hythe-wards. A gentle evening breeze rustles peacefully among the flags along the dyke side. The blue sky overhead was never more blue. Where are we? Is this Kent? Are we in England at all? Or have we dropped down somewhere on the Campagna, outside the walls of Rome? For lack of a ruined aqueduct your eye rests on the grey walls of Hope, or Eastbridge, or on the solitary arch of Midley. On the one side rises a tall landmark across the

A Quiet Corner of England, by Basil Champneys. (Seeley, Jackson, and Halliday.)

plain, the Campanile of Lydd. On the other stretches far away the long ridge of the Alban and Sabine hills, which folk hereabout call Lympne and Aldington. But I know better, for while my friend the Marsh Rector and I are still arguing the point, there comes creaking along the road to Ostia (New Romney he calls it), a heavy waggon drawn by the wide-horned, mild-eyed, melancholy oxen, which every Roman artist knows so well.

Thus fancy lends her ready aid in support of my honest theory as to the meaning of the name, Romney Marsh. From Rome I set out, with Rome I end. And now I leave you in the hands of the Viri Palustres (as Camden calls them)-kindly souls as I know them to be-who are waiting to receive this sudden invasion of unwonted visitors.

VOL. XIII.

N

AN OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF ROMNEY

MARSH.

BY ROBERT FURLEY, F.S.A.

I AM this evening to speak of the district in which we have assembled; our time is short, and my remarks must be brief and general.*

To us Romney Marsh has, this day, appeared as it did to Drayton, the Poet Laureate of Queen Elizabeth,

"most bravely like a Queen,

Clad, all from head to foot, in gaudy summer's green."

The area of Kent is a little more than one million of statute acres; of which the land comprehended under the general name of Romney Marsh forms nearly one twentieth part. As land situate on our southern coast, between the upland hills and the sea shore, this spacious level now surpasses in value any similar district in the county, perhaps in the kingdom, of the same extent.

Like the Isle of Thanet, there are conflicting opinions as to the origin of its name. Three writers give it a Latin derivation, another a Saxon one, while a fifth is of opinion that it is derived from a Gaelic word, but Canon Jenkins ascribes it to the name of a great Saxon landowner, a priest, called Presbyter Romanus.

This level was contiguous to the great Andred Forest, without any defined boundary, and was drained by the River Limen or Rother, which rises near Argus Hill at Rotherfield in Sussex. Romney Marsh, which now boasts some of the finest grazing land in the world, was, some centuries back, partially if not wholly, covered by the sea and the waters of the River Limen, resembling, according to one writer "a worthless muddy flat, overflowed at every tide."

* Read at the Archæological Society's Evening Meeting, July 30th, 1879.

The early history of this district, though involved in darkness, is more free from "the age of fable" than many other parts of Kent. The only fabulous account of it that I have met with was written by Nennius, about the ninth century. In his Catalogue of British Wonders, he says,

"The first marvel is the Lommon [Limen] Marsh, for in it are 340 islands with men living on them! It is girt by 340 rocks! and in every rock is an eagle's nest, and 340 rivers flow into it; aud there goes out of it into the sea but one river, which is called the Lemn [Limen]."

This inflated account probably referred to the numerous spots where dry land first appeared in the bay, and the countless sluices which intersected them.

Much of our south-eastern seaboard was, before the Roman invasion, occupied by Belgic tribes who had settled there, and differed but little from the Gauls in their mode of life. They were more civilized than the inhabitants amongst whom they had settled, and a recent writer (Mr. Smiles) has expressed, with others, an opinion that portions of this district were first reclaimed by them, they having brought the art of embanking with them from the Netherlands. These tribes were subdued by the Romans, who landed, fifty-five years before the Christian era, on some part of the Kentish coast between Hythe and Sandwich. I will not here suggest the spot, but will remind you that we have in the immediate vicinity of this Marsh a Roman strata, or paved way, connecting Durovernum (Canterbury) with the Portus Lemanis, and its Castle, now known as Stutfall, which road still bears the name of Stone Street, and was called in Anglo-Saxon times "Cæsar's Road."

Dry land, it is conjectured, for it is all conjecture, first appeared near the sites of Romney and Lydd, which were either islands, or a submarine ridge, three or four feet above high water mark.

Bear in mind that the only portion of the district to which I first propose to direct your attention is situate in Romney Marsh proper, which, it has been supposed, has been reclaimed from the sea for a longer period than any

similar land in the realm. I will first speak of the river which flowed into it, which in prehistoric times, it has been surmised, flowed at the foot of Lymne Hill, and discharged itself into the sea near Hythe.

It was no uncommon thing for the same river to be called by different names, as it flowed through different districts, as in the case of the Stour above and below Ashford. Thus the modern Rother was known as the

Lymene, Appledore Water, and Rumenea. The precise position of its earliest mouth has long been a subject of doubt and controversy, amongst both ancient and modern writers, one party favouring the Portus Lemanis (Lymne), and the other modestly, but doubtfully, preferring Appledore. Amongst the former may be classed Philipott, Harris, Hasted, Holloway, and Sandys, some of whom were of opinion that the river had two mouths, one at Lymne, and the other between Romney and Lydd; while amongst those who pointed to Appledore were Leland (the antiquary of Henry VIII), Lambarde, Camden, Somner, Charles Roach Smith, Lewin, and Elliott.

Fortunately the last-named gentleman, Mr. James Elliott (the late Engineer of the Marsh), has left behind him a great deal of valuable information connected with this district, contained in three different books and papers, one in the minutes of proceedings of the Civil Engineers in 1847, and the other two in publications by Mr. Charles Roach Smith and Mr. Thomas Lewin. In one of them, he gives us the result of a careful survey of the country between Appledore and Lymne; failing to trace the remains of any former river there, he came to the conclusion that Leland was right in his conjecture, and that the Limen did not find any outlet at the Portus Lemanis, but that its exit was at Appledore. He adds that the inclination of the land reclaimed having been always towards the inland margin of the Marsh, the sea, which gradually receded towards the hills, was of considerable depth on the ebb of every tide, and made its exit near Hythe, at the eastern end of the shingle bank, which was thus erroneously taken for the mouth of the river; while, in truth, it was