“NOW before I quit _Calais_,” a travel-writer would say, “it would not be amiss to give some account of “it.”—Now I think it very much amiss—that a man cannot go quietly through a town and let it alone, when it does not meddle with him, but that he must be turning about and drawing his pen at every kennel he crosses over, merely o’ my conscience for the sake of drawing it; because, if we may judge from what has been wrote of these things, by all who have _wrote and gallop’d_—or who have _gallop’d and wrote_, which is a different way still; or who, for more expedition than the rest, have _wrote galloping_, which is the way I do at present——from the great _Addison_, who did it with his satchel of school books hanging at his a—, and galling his beast’s crupper at every stroke—there is not a gallopper of us all who might not have gone on ambling quietly in his own ground (in case he had any), and have wrote all he had to write, dry-shod, as well as not. For my own part, as heaven is my judge, and to which I shall ever make my last appeal—I know no more of _Calais_ (except the little my barber told me of it as he was whetting his razor) than I do this moment of _Grand Cairo_; for it was dusky in the evening when I landed, and dark as pitch in the morning when I set out, and yet by merely knowing what is what, and by drawing this from that in one part of the town, and by spelling and putting this and that together in another—I would lay any travelling odds, that I this moment write a chapter upon _Calais_ as long as my arm; and with so distinct and satisfactory a detail of every item, which is worth a stranger’s curiosity in the town—that you would take me for the town-clerk of _Calais_ itself—and where, sir, would be the wonder? was not _Democritus_, who laughed ten times more than I—town-clerk of _Abdera?_ and was not (I forget his name) who had more discretion than us both, town-clerk of _Ephesus?_——it should be penn’d moreover, sir, with so much knowledge and good sense, and truth, and precision—— —Nay—if you don’t believe me, you may read the chapter for your pains. C H A P. LXXXVIII CALAIS, _Calatium, Calusium, Calesium._ This town, if we may trust its archives, the authority of which I see no reason to call in question in this place—was _once_ no more than a small village belonging to one of the first Counts de _Guignes;_ and as it boasts at present of no less than fourteen thousand inhabitants, exclusive of four hundred and twenty distinct families in the _basse ville_, or suburbs——it must have grown up by little and little, I suppose, to its present size.