essel was, in
fact, unsteerable; the enormous weight of the engines at the bows
prevented her obeying the helm. The party set off to Paris--such as
were in spirits to do so--and the shareholders in the company must
have had aching hearts enough.

Some years later, walking by the Thames bank, not far from Woolwich, I
came upon some masses of rusted metal, long lying there. There were
the huge cranks of paddle-wheels, a cylinder, and some boiler metal.
These, I was informed, were the fragments of the unlucky steamship
that was to abolish sea-sickness! As I now walked to the end of the
solitary pier--the very one I had seen swept away so unceremoniously--the
recollection of this day came back to me. There was an element of grim
comedy in the transaction when I recalled that the Calais harbour
officials sent in--and reasonably--a huge claim for the mischief done
to the pier; but the company soon satisfied _that_ by speedily
going 'into liquidation.' There was no resource, so the Frenchmen
had to rebuild their pier at their own cost.

Close to Calais is a notable place enough, flourishing, too, founded
after the great war by one Webster, an English laceman. It has grown
up, with broad stately streets, in which, it is said, some four or
five thousand Britons live and thrive. As you walk along you see the
familiar names, 'Smith and Co.,' 'Brown and Co.,' etc., displayed on
huge brass plates at the doors in true native style. Indeed, the whole
air of the place offers a suggestion of Belfast, these downright
colonists having stamped their ways and manners in solid style on the
place. Poor old original Calais had long made protest against the
constriction she was suffering; the wall and ditch, and the single
gate of issue towards the country, named after Richelieu, seeming to
check all hope of improvement. Reasons of state were urged. But a few
years ago Government gave way, the walls towards the country-side were
thrown down, the ditch filled up, and some tremendous 'navigator' work
was carried out. The place can now draw its breath.

On my last visit I had attended the theatre, a music-hall adaptable to
plays, concerts, or to 'les meetings.' It was a new, raw place, very
different from the little old theatre in the garden of Dessein's,
where the famous Duchess of Kingston attended a performance over a
hundred and twenty years ago. This place bore the dignified title of
the 'Hippodrome Theatre,' and a grand 'national' drama w