were in multitudes then, and had a sort of society among themselves in
this Alsatia. That gentleman in a high stock and a short-waisted
coat--the late Mr. Brummell surely, walking in this direction? Is he
pursued by this agitated crowd, hurrying after him with a low roaring,
like the sound of the waves?...

* * * * *

I am roused up with a start. What a change! The whole is alive and
bustling, black shadowy figures are hurrying by. The white-funnelled
steamer has come up, and is moaning dismally, eager to get away.
Behind is the long international train of illuminated chambers, fresh
from Paris and just come in, pouring out its men and women, who have
arrived from all quarters of the world. They stream on board in a
shadowy procession, laden with their bundles. Lower down, I hear the
_crashing_ of trunks discharged upon the earth! I go on board with
the rest, sit down in a corner, and recall nothing till I find myself
on the chill platform of Victoria Station--time, six o'clock a.m.

It was surely a dream, or like a dream!--a dream a little over thirty
hours long. And what strange objects, all blended and confused
together!--towers, towns, gateways, drawbridges, religious rites and
processions, pealing organs and jangling chimes, long dusty roads
lined with regimental trees, blouses, fishwomen's caps, _sabots_,
savoury and unsavoury smells, France dissolving into Belgium, Belgium
into France, France into Belgium again; in short, one bewildering
kaleidoscope! A day and two nights had gone, during all which time I
had been on my legs, and had travelled nigh six hundred miles! Dream
or no dream, it had been a very welcome show or panorama, new ideas
and sights appearing at every turn.