At Chatham they went aboard two men-of-war, the Royal Sovereign and the Marlborough. In the churchyard at Hoo they found a curious epitaph, written by a “servant maid turned poetaster,” in honour of her master, who had left her all his money, and which Forrest thus, literally, transcribed—— “And. wHen. he. Died. you. plainly. see. Hee. freely. gave. al. to Sara. passaWee. And. in. Doing. so. it. DoTh. prevail. that. Ion. him. can. well. besTowthis. Rayel on. Year. sarved. him. it. is well. none But. Thanks. beto. God. it. is. all. my One.” How they lay two in a bed, drawing lots who should be the fifth, fortunate enough to sleep “without a chum;” how they were tormented with gnats, and tossed and tumbled, and, waking up in the morning, told their dreams, and could make nothing of them; how Hogarth and Scott played at “Scotch-hop” in the Town Hall, Rochester; how they pelted and bemired one another in country lanes and churchyards; how they perambulated the “Isle of Greane” and the “Isle of Shepey,” and came upon a party of men-’o-war’s men, who had been left without provisions by their midshipman, and learnt how the same midshipman had afterwards got into dire disgrace for philandering with a married lady of Queensborough; how they ate cockles with the sailors, and sent to the alehouse for beer to regale them; and treated a loquacious man of Queensborough to “t’other pot,” whereat the loquacious man began to abuse the mayor of that mighty borough as a mere custom-house officer; how they found the Market-place “Just big enough to hold the stocks And one if not two butchers’ blocks.” how they abode at the “Swans,” and the landlady threatened to have Scott up before the mayor; how they heard the famous Isle of Sheppey legend of “Horse Church” and the wicked Lord of Shorland, so graphically narrated in our own days by Thomas Ingoldsby in the story beginning “‘He won’t,’ said the Baron. ‘Then bring me my boots.’” How at last they got back to Gravesend, put up at Mrs. Bramble’s again, and returned per tilt-boat very tired and jovial to London. All these notable incidents are set down with a charming simplicity, and an unflagging humour and good nature. Forrest, as I have said, kept the journal. Hogarth and Scott illustrated it. Thornhill made the map, and Tothall was the treasurer. The original drawings, done with a pen and washed with indian ink, and not unlike some of old Rowlandson’s rough sketches, are now in the Print Room of the British Museum. I believe this very interesting memorial of an English artist, this homely _Liber Veritatis_, was secured for our National Collection at the cost of a hundred pounds. Some of the drawings are capital; though all are of the very slightest. These boon companions were too much bent on enjoying themselves to work very hard. There is a view of Queensborough Market-place and Hôtel de Ville, the manner of taking the draught of which is thus described:—