144 THE CALL OF THE SEA 



(From Jorrocks's Jaiinls and Jollities) 



TSJONE but the natives of Dover can tell what 

 the weather is, unless the wind comes directly 

 off the sea, and it was not until Mr. Jorrocks pro- 

 ceeded to embark, after breakfast the next morn- 

 ing, that he ascertained there was a heavy swell 

 on, so quiet had the heights kept the gambols of 

 Boreas. Three steamers were simmering into 

 action on the London Hotel side of the harbour, 

 in one of which— the Royal George — two britchkas 

 and barouche were lashed ready for sea, while the 

 custom-house porters were trundling barrows full 

 of luggage under the personal superintendence of 

 a little shock-headed French commissionaire of 

 Mr. Wright's in a gold-laced cap, and the other 

 gentry of the same profession from the different 

 inns. . . . 



A voyage is to many people like taking an 

 emetic — they look at the medicine and wish it well 

 over, and look at the sea and wish themselves well 

 over. Everything looked bright and gay at Dover 

 — the cliffs seemed whiter than ever — the sailors 

 had on clean trousers, and the few people that 

 appeared in the streets were dressed in their 

 Sunday best. The cart-horses were seen feeding 

 leisurely on the hills, and there was a placid calm- 

 ness about everything on shore, which the travel- 

 lers would fain have extended to the sea. They 



