nto temptation, and to be delivered from evil.

DESSEIN'S.

I arrived by the night-mail packet from Dover. The passage had been
rough, and the usual consequences had ensued. I was disinclined to
travel farther that night on my road to Paris, and knew the Calais
hotel of old as one of the cleanest, one of the dearest, one of the most
comfortable hotels on the continent of Europe. There is no town more
French than Calais. That charming old "Hotel Dessein," with its court,
its gardens, its lordly kitchen, its princely waiter--a gentleman of
the old school, who has welcomed the finest company in Europe--have long
been known to me. I have read complaints in The Times, more than once, I
think, that the Dessein bills are dear. A bottle of soda-water certainly
costs--well, never mind how much. I remember as a boy, at the "Ship" at
Dover (imperante Carolo Decimo), when, my place to London being paid, I
had but 12s. left after a certain little Paris excursion (about which my
benighted parents never knew anything), ordering for dinner a whiting, a
beefsteak, and a glass of negus, and the bill was, dinner 7s., glass of
negus 2s., waiter 6d., and only half a crown left, as I was a sinner,
for the guard and coachman on the way to London! And I WAS a sinner. I
had gone without leave. What a long, dreary, guilty forty hours' journey
it was from Paris to Calais, I remember! How did I come to think of
this escapade, which occurred in the Easter vacation of the year 1830?
I always think of it when I am crossing to Calais. Guilt, sir, guilt
remains stamped on the memory, and I feel easier in my mind now that
it is liberated of this old peccadillo. I met my college tutor only
yesterday. We were travelling, and stopped at the same hotel. He had
the very next room to mine. After he had gone into his apartment, having
shaken me quite kindly by the hand, I felt inclined to knock at his door
and say, "Doctor Bentley, I beg your pardon, but do you remember, when I
was going down at the Easter vacation in 1830, you asked me where I
was going to spend my vacation? And I said, With my friend Slingsby, in
Huntingdonshire. Well, sir, I grieve to have to confess that I told you
a fib. I had got 20L. and was going for a lark to Paris, where my friend
Edwards was staying." There, it is out. The Doctor will read it, for
I did not wake him up after all to make my confession, but protest he
shall have a copy of this Roundabout sent to him when he re