_Sunday, November 5th._--Slept at the York Hotel last night, and embarked this morning on board the packet for Calais--forget her name--Captain Keys. All bustle and confusion when we went on board. Deck encumbered with a carriage and heaps of baggage, amongst which the complete, well-appointed baggage of Hamilton Hamilton, Esq., secretary of legation, or some such thing, was most conspicuous. In time carriage was stowed and baggage sent below, porters, leave-takers, &c., went ashore, and we quitted the pier. Passengers numerous: H. Hamilton does exclusive, and even betrays impatience and vexation at being shut up with such a _canaille_; then an old gentleman, with a broad-brimmed hat, assumes mighty airs of consequence, and even looks a little contemptuously at Hamilton Hamilton himself, who speaks to none but his _own man_; a Scottish gentleman and his spouse, who makes a terrible sputter about her dear little dog Rose, which is somehow or another left behind at Dover; a mean-looking man in a foraging-cap, a melancholy sergeant of dragoons, and his wife; a Russian dressed in forage-cap and green jacket, like a servant’s morning one, wearing no gloves, and looking for all the world like a _courrier_, but F. insisting that such a white hand decidedly constitutes him a gentleman; besides a crowd, _gentium minorum_, of whom we make no record. As we left, the guns on Dover Castle announced Guy Faux by a royal salute. A fresh breeze and rather dark day--the one operating on the _physique_, the other on the _morale_, made all the passengers except very few exceedingly sick. More than half-way over, our breeze gradually subsided into a calm, and left us bobbing about at a most tantalising distance from our port. To amuse the tedium of the calm, our Russian (by no means a handsome man), who had been ogling F. from the very beginning, managed to pick up a conversation; and in a very short time from ogling began to make love, which, however, was cut short by her getting squeamish, and being obliged to lie down. He then transferred his attentions to me, and I really found him a most gentlemanly, well-informed man, spite of his exterior. After being tantalised for some time looking at Calais without being able to reach it, at length a breeze sprang up and carried us in. Crowds of Sunday people were on the pier, all anxious to see the arrivals. The usual squabble about baggage and forcing through the surrounding multitude took place, and we went to Quillacq’s Hotel without the baggage--which, after all, was detained on board until it could be inspected at the custom-house on Monday morning, a most inconvenient arrangement, as we found ourselves without an article except what we stood in--a great rambling house, with large dreary (at this season of the year) rooms and long corridors. Amused with F.’s surprise at the number of little dishes served up at dinner--all, however, excellent. Obliged to borrow nightcaps of M. and Madame Quillacq.