The shops on the quay are an unfailing source of interest to me. I make a tour there every morning before I go down to the beach. They have such a wonderful variety of things. Shells of all sizes--enormous pink ones like those I always remember standing on the mantelpiece in the nursery at home--brought back by a sailor brother who used to tell us to put them to our ears and we would hear the noise of the sea--and beautiful delicate little mother-of-pearl shells that are almost jewels--wonderful frames, boxes, and pincushions, made of shells; big spoons, too, with a figure or a ship painted on them--knives, penholders, paper-cutters and brooches, made out of the bones of big fish--tassels of bright-coloured sea-weed, corals, vanilla beans--curiously worked leather belts--some roughly carved ivory crosses, umbrella handles, canes of every description, pipes, long gold earrings, parrots, little birds with bright-coloured feathers, monkeys--an extraordinary collection. I am sure one would find many curious specimens if one could penetrate into the back of the old shops and pull the things about--evidently sailors from all parts of the world have passed at Boulogne. Still I don't hear many foreign languages spoken--almost always French and English; occasionally a dark face, with bright black eyes, strikes one. We saw two Italians the other day, talking and gesticulating hard, shivering, too, with woollen comforters tied over their caps. There was a cold fog and we were all wrapped up. It must be awful weather for Southerners who only live when the sun shines and go to bed when it is cold and gray. There are all sorts of itinerants, petits marchands, on the other side of the quay, looking on the water--old women with fruit and cakes--children with crabs and shrimps--dolls in Boulonaise costume--fishwives and matelottes, stalls with every description of food, tea, coffee, chocolate, sandwiches, and fried potatoes. The children bought some potatoes the other day wrapped up in brown paper--quite a big portion for two sous--and said they were very good. The quais are very broad, happily, for everything is put there. One morning there were quantities of barrels. I asked what was in them. Salt, they told me, for the herring-boats which are starting these days. Nets, coils of ropes, big sails, baskets, boxes, odd bits of iron, some anchors--one has rather to pick one's way. An automobile has been standing there for three or four days. I asked if that was going to Iceland on a trawler, but the man answered quite simply, "Oh, no, Madame, what should we do with an automobile in a fishing-boat. It belongs to the owner of one of the ships, and has been here en panne waiting till he can have it repaired."