smart _chasse marée_, the like of which in the old days did service as privateers out of Calais, or as smugglers out of Boulogne, Dunkirk, or Gravelines. We are inclined to agree that there is no strip of open water like the Channel off Deal and Dover for interest and variety. On rounding the towering and magnificent South Foreland one gets one’s first glimpse of Dover when coming from the eastward. It is not very satisfying until one has actually entered the Bay, which is one of the finest artificial havens in the world. It has been the custom in the past of those who simply pass through Dover on their way to or from the Continent to decry it. We could produce more uncomplimentary remarks concerning the “ugliness,” “poverty,” “dullness,” etc., of Dover (perhaps written by those to whom a Channel swell had been less than kind) than of almost any other place of which we have personal knowledge. But to those who approach “the ancient town of Dover with its many memories, its commanding castle, its impressive pharos” leisurely from the sea on a fine day, we can conceive of no feelings being aroused than those of interest and admiration. There is something eternal in the appearance of this sole true survivor of the famous Cinque Ports, which makes it possible for one to realize that much of what one sees, at all events at a first glance, is what has been looked upon by countless generations from the time when Cæsar’s eagle eye rested upon Shakespeare’s Cliff, and travelled up the valley which lies snug in the shelter of and runs inland between the two o’er-topping cliffs. But whilst we may linger amid historic memories Cæsar passed on to an easier landing a little way further up the coast.