CHARLES DICKENS I43 



a place Calais is? I tell him (Heaven forgive me!) 

 a very agreeable place indeed — rather hilly than 

 otherwise. 



So strangely goes the time, and on the whole so 

 quickly — though still I seem to have been on 

 board a week — that I am bumped, rolled, gurgled, 

 washed, and pitched into Calais Harbour before 

 her maiden smile has finally lighted her through 

 the Green Isle, When blest for ever is she who re- 

 lied. On entering Calais at the top of the tide. 

 For we have not to land to-night down among 

 those slimy timbers — covered with green hair as if 

 it were the mermaid's favourite combing-place — 

 where one crawls to the surface of the jetty, like a 

 stranded shrimp, but we go steaming up the har- 

 bour to the Railway Station Quay. And as we go, 

 she washes in and out among piles and planks, 

 with dead heavy beats and in quite a furious 

 manner (whereof we are proud), and tlic lamps 

 shake in the wind, and the bells of Calais striking 

 one seem to send their vibrations struggling 

 against troubled air, as we have come struggling 

 against troubled water. And now, in the sudden 

 relief and wiping of faces, everybody on board 

 seems to have had a prodigious doublc-tooth out, 

 and to bo this very instant free of tlie dentist's 

 hands. And now we all know for the first time 

 how wet and cold we arc, and how salt we are ; 

 and now I love Calais with my heart of hearts! 



Cluiyhs Pickfns. 



