Another Dickensian association with this Rochester Charity may be quoted in connection with Miss Adelaide Procter. During ’54 this lady had been a valued contributor to _Household Words_, under the assumed name of “Berwick,” and some speculation arose in the editorial department as to the real personality of the writer. The _nom de plume_ being, in course of time, relinquished, and the secret told, Mr. Dickens sent a letter of congratulation and appreciation to the young authoress—dated December 17th, 1854—which thus concluded: “Pray accept the blessing and forgiveness of Richard Watts, though I am afraid you come under _both his conditions of exclusion_.” Retracing the High Street route, we again pass the Gate-house of the Cathedral Close, and come, immediately on the left, to the noted Bull Hotel, a commodious establishment of ancient and respectable repute, and the principal posting-house of the town. This is the celebrated hostelry at which the Pickwickians sojourned on the occasion of their first visit to Rochester, per “Commodore” coach from London. In the large assembly-room upstairs—“a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and wax candles in glass chandeliers, with the musicians securely confined in an elevated den”—the memorable Ball took place, on the evening of their arrival, which was attended by _Mr. Tupman_ and his seductive friend _Jingle_; the latter affording some information as to the exclusive character of Rochester society:— “‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently—nobs not come yet—queer place. Dockyard people of upper rank don’t know Dockyard people of lower rank. Dockyard people of lower rank don’t know small gentry—small gentry don’t know tradespeople—Commissioner don’t know anybody.’” Here Mr. Jingle, on that fateful occasion, gave dire offence to Doctor Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, by making himself obtrusively agreeable to the rich little widow, Mrs. Budger; and we may remember how the Doctor, with his “hitherto bottled-up indignation effervescing from all parts of his countenance in a perspiration of passion,” insisted on a hostile meeting. The hotel has a frontage of about 90 feet, with wide pillared gateway, and extensive stabling at the back. Proceeding past the Guildhall on the right, towards the end of the street, facing Rochester Bridge, we arrive at The Crown Hotel, pleasantly situated at the corner of the Esplanade and High Street, one side of the house facing the Medway; a white-brick edifice lately rebuilt. It is referred to in chapter 18 of “Edwin Drood” as “_The Crozier_,” the orthodox hotel at which _Mr. Datchery_ took up his temporary abode, previous to settling in Cloisterham as “a single buffer—an idle dog who lived upon his means.” Other visitors to Rochester may advantageously imitate Mr. Datchery’s example, the position and conduct of the house being alike excellent.