Domesday Book, which mentions “Seseltre,” says nothing of Whitstable, but there was then a “Hundred of Whitstapele,” a division even then of ancient standing. The name was, in its origin, evidently that of some prominent white pole, or post, or even of some white church-tower; for the word “stapol” means any of these; surviving in modern English as “steeple.” But no one will ever know what that object really was from which, in such roundabout fashion, the town of Whitstable derives its name. It is, at first sight, a singularly unattractive place; and the more you see of it, the less you like it. The streets are narrow and mean, without the saving grace of picturesqueness, and the sea-front adds to the squalor by being occupied by the railway-station and a very coaly dock. Having thus successfully taken away the character of Whitstable, I will now address myself to the oyster fishery. There are numerous conflicting accounts of the reason for Julius Cæsar’s invasion of Britain. Some historians consider he was impressed with the riches of the country in gold and skins, and some--with clearer vision, no doubt--are of opinion that he was actuated by sheer lust of conquest. Whitstable, however, is earnestly of opinion that Cæsar’s coming was entirely and exclusively prompted by an appetite for “Whitstable natives.” It is a flattering belief. At any rate, the “Rutupine oysters” (the “natives” in question) were at that time high in favour at Rome, and continued so with all the Roman emperors; so that one instinctively associates “oyster” and “emperor” in indissoluble company. No one will ever discover the origin of oyster-eating. The eating of the first must have been a thrilling experiment, as James the First declared. “He was a very valiant man,” said our British Solomon, “who first ventured upon the eating of oysters.” One can imagine that man, faced with the dilemma of starving or being poisoned, making the awful experiment. Whoever he was, or whenever he flourished, he merits the gratitude of that portion of the world which eats oysters. Speaking for myself, and those of my fellow men who are illogical enough not to like oysters--never having tried them, and never intending to do so--I am quite cold upon the subject, and therefore am inclined the more to applaud Seneca, who, austere philosopher that he was, described the oyster as “a thing that cannot be called food,” but an abstruse luxury, “a provocative of appetite, causing those who are already full to eat more.” Thus he dismisses oyster-eaters to the cold shades of contempt occupied by such people as those who take bitters and wash themselves out with table-waters. But Seneca himself was an oyster-eater, and spoke, as your true philosopher should speak, at first-hand knowledge.