The chief picturesque asset of this region is the exceedingly quaint group of old tarred tackle-boxes, or rigging-lofts, fronting the Fish Market, on the Stade. This is the last stronghold of the picturesque here, and very well worth preserving. Elsewhere in the Old Town there are interesting seventeenth and eighteenth century red-brick houses, but they are woefully slummy. High above this lowly region and the harbour is the old parish church of St. Eanswythe, that famous lady, daughter of Eadbald, King of Kent, who founded a convent here on the hill-top and caused water to run miraculously uphill to supply it. It is not surprising that she was made a saint. Rome could scarcely do less. A leaden reliquary containing relics of her was discovered in a wall of the church in 1895. I have already remarked that modern Folkestone, as distinguished from the old fishing-port, wears in its most prominent residential parts the appearance of an unregenerate South Kensington; of the South Kensington before the cult of the sunflower and of Queen Annean architecture banished white brick and stucco. That it should so closely resemble the South Kensington of the Cromwell Road district, built soon after the Great Exhibition of 1851, is not remarkable, seeing that it was Cubitt, that great conjurer with bricks and mortar (not forgetting the plaster) who was the author of both. He bade arise both Cromwell Road and the intensely respectable and extremely expensive mansions that front upon the Folkestone Leas--or Lees, as I grieve to find them frequently spelt--and Dickens was in 1855, or thereabouts, the prophet of all these things. Dickens, in this setting, is a figure of absolute rightness. You cannot imagine him, even had he lived long enough, in a Morris and Burne-Jones _milieu_. He came to Folkestone when the new town was of the newest and still in the making, and when the original Pavilion Hotel, the predecessor of the existing hotel of that name, was fresh-built. He described Folkestone under the name of “Pavilionstone,” and one may still see in Albion Villas the house he rented for a time; a thoroughly typical house.