hat is popularly supposed
to be so thorny, the other Harry could only repeat:

'So that's it! What is it, again? _Sheemin_--'

_'Sheemin dee Fur.'_

Later, in the fuss and bustle of the 'eating hall,' this 'Harry,' more
obstreperous than ever by contact with the foreigners, again attracted
my attention. Everywhere I heard his voice; he was rampant.

'When the chap laid hold of my bag, "Halloo," says I; "hands off, old
boy," says I.

"'Eel Fo!" says he.

'"Eel-pie!" says I. "Blow your _Fo_," says I, and didn't he grin like
an ape? I declare I thought I'd have split when he came again with his
"_Eel Fo_!"'

He was then in his element. Everything new to him was 'a guy,' or 'so
rum,' or 'the queerest go you ever.' One of the two declared that, 'in
all his experience and in all his life he had never heard sich a lingo
as French;' and further, that 'one of their light porters at
Bucklersbury would eat half a dozen of them Frenchmen for a bender.'

This strange, grotesque dialogue I repeat textually almost; and, it
may be conceived, it was entertaining in a high degree. _'Sheemin dee
Fur'_ was the exact phonetic pronunciation, and the whole scene
lingers pleasantly in the memory.

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 pie