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 the wit to prefer free limbs and fresh air to a prison, it would be all that is agreeable and genteel.  It seems to be thought, that a certain ci-devant leader of fashion has chosen Calais as his place of voluntary exile, out of a spirit of contradiction.  But the truth is, he had the good sense to see that he might “go farther and fare worse;” and that, at any rate, he would thus secure himself from the intrusions of that “good company,” which had been his bane.  By-the-by, his last “good thing” appertains to his residence here.  Some one asked him how he could think of residing in “such a place as Calais?” “I suppose,” said he, “it is possible for a gentleman to live between London and Paris.”

The interior of Calais I need not describe further, except to say that round three-fourths of it are elevated ramparts, overlooking the surrounding country to a great extent, and in several parts planted with trees, which afford most pleasant and refreshing walks, after pacing the somewhat perplexing pavements of the streets, and being dazzled by the brilliant whiteness which reflects from that, and from the houses.  The