Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger [widger@cecomet.net]
Hotel de Louvre, January 6th, 1858.—On Tuesday morning, our dozen trunksand half-dozen carpet-bags being already packed and labelled, we began toprepare for our journey two or three hours before light. Two cabs were atthe door by half past six, and at seven we set out for the London Bridgestation, while it was still dark and bitterly cold. There were alreadymany people in the streets, growing more numerous as we drove city-ward;and, in Newgate Street, there was such a number of market-carts, that wealmost came to a dead lock with some of them. At the station we foundseveral persons who were apparently going in the same train with us,sitting round the fire of the waiting-room. Since I came to Englandthere has hardly been a morning when I should have less willinglybestirred myself before daylight; so sharp and inclement was theatmosphere. We started at half past eight, having taken through ticketsto Paris by way of Folkestone and Boulogne. A foot-warmer (a long, flattin utensil, full of hot water) was put into the carriage just before westarted; but it did not make us more than half comfortable, and the frostsoon began to cloud the windows, and shut out the prospect, so that wecould only glance at the green fields—immortally green, whatever wintercan do against them—and at, here and there, a stream or pool with theice forming on its borders. It was the first cold weather of a very mildseason. The snow began to fall in scattered and almost invisible flakes;and it seemed as if we had stayed our English welcome out, and were tofind nothing genial and hospitable there any more.
At Folkestone, we were deposited at a railway station close upon ashingly beach, on which the sea broke in foam, and which J——- reportedas strewn with shells and star-fish; behind was the town, with an oldchurch in the midst; and, close, at hand, the pier, where lay the steamerin which we were to embark. But the air was so wintry, that I had noheart to explore the town, or pick up shells with J——- on the beach; sowe kept within doors during the two hours of our stay, now and thenlooking out of the windows at a fishing-boat or two, as they pitched androlled with an ugly and irregular motion, such as the British Channelgenerally communicates to the craft that navigate it.
At about one o'clock we went on board, and were soon under steam, at arate that quickly showed a long line of the white cliffs of Albion behindus. It is a very dusky white, by the by, and the cliffs themselves donot seem, at a distance, to be of imposing height, and have too even anoutline to be picturesque.
As we increased our distance from England, the French coast came more andmore distinctly in sight, with a low, wavy outline, not very well worthlooking at, except because it was the coast of France. Indeed, I lookedat it but little; for the wind was bleak and boisterous, and I went downinto the cabin, where I found the fire very comfortable, and severalpeople were stretched on sofas in a state of placid wretchedness. . . . .I have never suffered from sea-sickness, but had been somewhatapprehensive of this rough strait between England and France, which seemsto have more potency over people's stomachs than ten times the extent ofsea in other quarters. Our passage was of two hours, at the end of whichwe landed on Fre