IV.

_CALAIS._


But it is now close on midnight, and we are drawing near land; the eye
of the French _phare_ grows fiercer and more glaring, until, close on
midnight, the traveller finds the blinding light flashed full on him,
as the vessel rushes past the wickerwork pier-head. One or two beings,
whose unhappy constitution it is to be miserable and wretched at the
very whisper of the word 'SEA,' drag themselves up from below,
rejoicing that here is CALAIS. Beyond rises the clustered town
confined within its walls. As we glide in between the friendly arms of
the openwork pier, the shadowy outlines of the low-lying town take
shape and enlarge, dotted with lamps as though pricked over with
pin-holes. The fiery clock of the station, that sits up all night from
year's end to year's end; the dark figures with tumbrils, and a stray
coach waiting; the yellow gateway and drawbridge of the fortress just
beyond, and the chiming of _carillons_ in a wheezy fashion from the
old watch-tower within, make up a picture.

[Illustration: HOGARTH'S GATE (CALAIS)]

[Illustration: HALL OF THE STAPLE, (Calais)]

Such, indeed, it used to be--not without its poetry, too; but the old
Calais days are gone. Now the travellers land far away down the pier,
at the new-fangled 'Calais Maritime,' forsooth! and do not even
approach the old town. The fishing-boats, laid up side by side along