is surmounted at one end by a light spiring belfry, containing a most
loquacious ring of bells, which take up a somewhat unreasonable proportion
of every quarter of an hour in announcing its arrival; and, in addition,
every three hours they play "_Le petit chaperon rouge_" for a longer period
than (I should imagine) even French patience and leisure can afford to
listen to it. Immediately behind the centre of this side of the "Place"
also rises the lofty tower, which serves as a light-house to the coast and
harbour, and which at night displays its well-known revolving lights. Most
of the principal streets run out of this great Square. The most busy of
them--because the greatest thoroughfare--is a short and narrow one leading
to the Port--(_Rue du Havre_:) in it live all those shopkeepers who
especially address themselves to the wants of the traveller. But the gayest
and most agreeable street is one running from the north-east corner of the
"Place" (_Rue Royale_.) It terminates in the gate leading to the suburbs
(_Basse Ville_,) and to the Netherlands and the interior of the country. In
this street is situated the great hotel Dessin--rendered famous for the
"for ever" of a century or so to come, by _Sterne's Sentimental Journey_.
The only other street devoted exclusively to shops is one running parallel
with the south side of the "Place." The rest of the interior of Calais
consists of about twenty other streets, each containing here and there a
shop, but chiefly occupied by the residences of persons directly or
indirectly connected with the trade of Calais as a sea-port town.

If you believe its maligners, Calais is no better than a sort of Alsatia to
England, a kind of extension of the rules of the King's Bench. The same
persons would persuade you that America is something between a morass and a
desert, and that its inhabitants are a cross between swindlers and
barbarians; merely because its laws do not take upon them to punish those
who have not offended against them! If America were to send home to their
respective countries, in irons, all who arrive on her shores under
suspicion of not being endowed with a Utopian degree of honesty--or, if
(still better) she were to hang them outright, she would be looked upon as
the most pious, moral, and refined nation under the sun, and her climate
would rival that of Paradise. And if Calais did not happen to be so
situated, that it affords a pleasant refuge to some of those who have