New-comers were much disliked by the quarrymen, and the custom of "marrying the land" was observed in former days and, for aught I know, may be observed now. However, we do know that "foreigners" were not allowed to hold land in the Isle of Portland a hundred years ago, and the inhabitants, who claimed to be true descendants of the Phoenicians who traded with Cornwall and Devonshire for tin, kept themselves a distinct people. In "marrying the land" the contracting parties met at church, and joining hands the one who handed over the property simply said: "I, Uncle Tom" (the surname was never used by the quarry folk), "give to thee, Cousin Antony, such-and-such land." The clergyman then placed his hands over the others, and the contract was concluded. As I have said, the old-world village of Swanage has altered much, and has become a town, and since the opening of the branch railway from Wareham in the latter end of the eighties of the nineteenth century the ancient customs and characters of those unhurried, simpler, happier days have been swept away. The calming quietude of the quaint old stone houses is now disturbed by ugly, modern erections of red brick. But the quaint cottages, solid in great stone slabs and stone tiles, still breathe the true artlessness of the quarry folk. They are an instance of provident care and sound workmanship defying the neglect of a hundred successive tenants. The High Street of Old Swanage, which rises uphill from the Ship Hotel towards the church, traversing the centre of the town from east to west, seems saturated with human influence and has a flavour all its own. Half-way up the street on the right is the Town Hall, with an ornate façade which once formed part of the Mercers' Hall in London, designed by Sir Christopher Wren. A few yards down the side-turning by the hall can be seen, on the left, an even greater curiosity, the Old Lock-Up, of stone, "erected," as an inscription records, "for the prevention of wickedness and vice by friends of religion and good order, A.D. 1803." On the left is Purbeck House, a low, private residence, built by a "local Mæcenas," the late Mr Burt, the contractor, in 1876. The fish vane, of burnished copper, formerly adorned Billingsgate Market, and the wall fronting the street is faced with granite chips from the Albert Memorial, Hyde Park.