a few old pictures given by the Government, and labelled in writing;
the car of Blanchard's balloon, and a cutting from a newspaper
describing his arrival; portraits of the 'Citizen King' in his white
trousers; ditto of Napoleon III., name pasted over; the flagstone,
with an inscription, celebrating the landing of Louis XVIII., removed
from the pier--in deference to Republican sensitiveness--no doubt to
be restored again in deference to monarchical feelings; and, of
course, a number of the usual uninteresting cases containing white
cards, and much cotton, pins, and insects, stuffed birds, and
symmetrically-arranged dried specimens, the invariable Indian gourds,
and arrows, and moccasins, which 'no gentlemanly collection should be
without.' Never, during many a visit, did I omit wandering up to see
this pleasing, old, but ghostly memorial. It may be conceived what a
shock it was when, on a recent visit, I found it gone--razed--carted
away. I searched and searched--fancied I had mistaken the street; but
no! it was gone for ever. During M. Jules Ferry's last administration,
when the rage for 'Communal schools' set in, this tempting site had
been seized upon, the interesting old place levelled, and a
factory-like red-brick pile rapidly erected in its place. It was
impossible not to feel a pang at this discovery; I felt that Calais
without its Dessein's had lost its charm. Madame Dessein, a
grand-niece or nearly-related descendant of _le grand Dessein_, still
directs at Quillacq's--a pleasing old lady.

There is still a half hour before me, while the gorgers in 'Maritime
Calais' are busy feeding against time; and while I stand in the
_place_, listening to the wheezy old chimes, I recall a pleasant
excursion, and a holiday that was spent there, at the time when the
annual _fetes_ were being celebrated. Never was there a brighter day:
all seemed to be new, and the very quintessence of what was
foreign--the gay houses of different heights and patterns were decked
with streamers, their parti-coloured blinds, devices, and balconies
running round the _place_, and furnishing gaudy detail. Here there
used to be plenty of movement, when the Lafitte diligences went
clattering by, starting for Paris, before the voracious railway
marched victoriously in and swallowed diligence, horses,
postilions--bells, boots and all! The gay crowd passing across the
_place_ was making for the huge iron-gray cathedral, quite ponderous
and fortress-l