be on the more despotic continent?

The summer was in its first month, and Paris was in its glory, and it
was at such a time that I visited it. We took a steamer at the London
bridge wharf for Boulogne. The day promised well to be a boisterous
one, but I had a very faint idea of the gale blowing in the channel. If
I could have known, I should have waited, or gone by the express route,
_via_ Dover, the sea transit of which occupies only two hours. The fare
by steamer from London to Boulogne was three dollars. The accommodations
were meager, but the boat itself was a strong, lusty little fellow, and
well fitted for the life it leads. I can easily dispense with the
luxurious appointments which characterize the American steamboats, if
safety is assured to me in severe weather.

The voyage down the Thames, was in many respects very delightful.
Greenwich, Woolwich, Margate, and Ramsgate lie pleasantly upon this
route. But the wind blew so fiercely in our teeth that we experienced
little pleasure in looking at them. When we reached the channel we found
it white with foam, and soon our little boat was tossed upon the waves
like a gull. In my experience crossing the Atlantic, I had seen nothing
so disagreeable as this. The motion was so quick and so continual, the
boat so small, that I very soon found myself growing sick. The rain was
disagreeable, and the sea was constantly breaking over the bulwarks. I
could not stay below--the atmosphere was too stifling and hot. So I
bribed a sailor to wrap about me his oil-cloth garments, and lay down
near the engines with my face upturned to the black sky, and the
sea-spray washing me from time to time. Such sea-sickness I never
endured, though before I had sailed thousands of miles at sea, and have
done the same since. From sundown till two o'clock the next morning I
lay on the deck of the sloppy little boat, and when at last the Boulogne