There is no deception at 9 A.M. every morning at the Victoria Station. A sign-post points out the Dover Boat Express, and tells you at the same time whether you are to have the French-flagged services of the _Invicta_ and the _Victoria_, or sail under the red ensign of the _Calais-Douvres_. Personally, I prefer the latter, as I fancy it is the fastest of the speedy trio. Near to the board of information is a document heavy with fate. In it you can learn whether the sea is to be "smooth," "light," "moderate," or "rather rough." If you find that your destiny is one of the two last mentioned, make up your mind for breezy weather, with its probable consequences. Of course, if you can face the steward with cheerful unconcern in a hurricane, you will have nothing to fear. But if you find it necessary to take chloral before embarking (say) on the Serpentine in a dead calm, then beware of the trail of the tempest, and the course of the coming storm. If a man who is obliged to go on insists that "it will be all right," take care, and beware. "Trust him not," as the late LONGFELLOW poetically suggested, as it is quite within the bounds of possibility that he may be "fooling thee." But if the meteorological report points to "set fair," then away with all idle apprehensions, and hie for the first-class smoking compartment, that stops not until it gets to Dover pier, for the pause at Herne Hill scarcely counts for anything. As you travel gaily along through the suburbs of Surrey and the hops of Kent, you have just time to glance from your comfortable cushioned seat at "beautiful Battersea," "salubrious Shortlands," "cheerful Chatham," "smiling Sittingbourne," "favoured (junction for Dover and Ramsgate) Faversham," and last, but not least, "cathedral-cherishing Canterbury." You hurry through the quaint old streets of "the Key to Brompton" (I believe that is the poetical _plus_ strategical designation of the most warlike of our cinque ports), and in two twos you are on board the _Calais-Douvres_, bound for the _buffet_ of _buffets_, the pride of the caterer's craft, or rather (to avoid possible misapprehension) his honourable calling. The Channel is charming. This marvellous twenty miles of water is as wayward as a woman. At one time it will compel the crews of the steamers to appear in complete suits of oil-skin; at another it is as smooth as a billiard-table, and twice as smiling. The report at Victoria has not been misleading. We are to have a pleasant, and consequently prosperous passage.