The Sun.
London, England, 1864-10-10 00:00:00

To Paris Via Dieppe,

(From the Railway News.)
The three chief routes between England and France, as
everybody knows, are by Dover and Calais, by Folkestone,
and Boulogne, and by Newhaven and Dieppe. Look at the
map, and you will see that the line from London to Paris by
Newhaven and Dieppe is much more direct and shorter, in
actual mileage, than either of the other two lines. If it were

all dry land, it would be by far the best mode of communi-
sation, and the others would have little more chance of
competing with it than a line which led from London to

Brimingham by way of Ipswich would have with one which

ran straight between the two cities. It is the interposition

of that unsociable element, the sea, which makes all the dif-
ference. The deep valley which the waves, aided by terres-
trial convulsions, have worn between the chalk cliffs of
France and England, which probably began to yawn since

man appeared upon the earth, is at the narrowest where

Dover and Folkestone look across at Calais and Boulogne,

and widens to twice the distance between Newhaven and

Dieppe. Here we have a striking illustration of thesupe-

riority of land over water transit in respect of speed, for the

comparatively slight difference in mileage (as it would be
deemed on shore) between the Newhaven and the other two
ferries more than neutralises the advantage which the for-

mer route derives from its very much shorter mileage on
land. For all that, however, there is not any very great
difference between them in point of time for ordinary tra-
vellers, Those who go direct from London to Paris, on busi-
ness of urgency, or who have a horror of the sea, will, of
course, choose either Dover or Folkestone lines. Those
who want to see something more of France than its metro-

polls, and who do not grudge a little delay on the journey
for that object, will not hesitate to take the Newhaven route.

The sea passage ought not to be a deterrent. It occupies
only some five hours and a half or six hours—indeed, the
new boat, the Marseilles, accomplished it the other day in
four and a half—and the Channel is often much more angry
and tempestuous between its narrower straits.
An atom in the vast tide of metropolitan humanity which
flows every morningbetween 8 and 10 from the suburbs to
the City to ebb again at dusk, we one day find ourselves
drifted into the side eddy of the London• bridge terminus,
and presently are being whirled away southwards. All the
trim little villas of New Cross and Forest Hill seem to be
racing up to town as we rush past; the Sydenham Palace
makes us wink as, like a great chrysolite, it flashes to the
sun in a sudden blaze and then is lost to sight, A pause of
a few seconds at Croydon, and then we are dashing through
a fine country, clothed a few weeks ago with wreaths of
hops and breadths of yellow grain, but still richly green
with foliage, though the hop-poles are ranged in tented order
and the wheat is only ragged stubble in the fields. Reigate
shows its red face an instant and is gone. We catch a
glimpse of Lewes, looking very blue with many slates—
slates on its roofs and its gables—slates everywhere. A jerk

round a sharp curve and here we are at Newhaven wharf—
a quiet little port in a cleft of the long chalk cliffs. The
Alexandra, snorting spasmodically and emitting impatient
gushes of steam, as if eager to be off, is lying at the quay to
receive her passengers, who have now an opportunity of
inspecting each other. I here is the usual motley crew—the
old travellers, who profit by experience to rush down stairs
and make a comfortable lunch with a little brandy and
seUzar to wash it down, and then select snug places upon
deck; the timid ones, who immediately begin to swallow
mysterious chemicals, administered in so many drops in a
tumblertul of water, concerning wbicb, when we inquire of
the steward as to what it is, we elicit, after evasive replies,
an indignant exclamation, "Bless you, that 'ere nasty stuff
won't do 'cm any good—there's nothing like a glass of prime
stout or a stiff go of grog if you feel queer, I can tell you;"
the reckless ones, who quaff ale and begin to smoke large
cigars defiant of old Neptune, who, however, does not long
delay a cola revenge ; the inquisitive ones, who want to
know how the wind is, the length of the keel, the number of
the crew, the name of the stoker, the ago of the steward's
wife, and so on; the" swells," who have "made up" for
the voyage, some nautically, in rough pea jackets and mo-
dified sou-western, some en unlade tenue, light kid gloves,
patent leather boots, and opera glass in glossy case slung
round their shoulder, and one, Heaven save the mark I in
shooting boots and knickerbockers (not that his legs are
much to look at, after all.) There are tho foreigners, too,

looking already quite green, as if reflecting the complexion
of the hateful element, and clothed, some of them, in strange
modifications of English costume intended to astonish their
families in France, as this one here, in a huge cabman's
great coat of a fine cream colour, adorned with large oyster
shell buttons and elaborate plaits and seams, crossing and
recrossing each other fantastically; and this other, in a full
suit of corduroys, supposed to represent the ordinary habi-
liment of the first aristocracy in the world. Meanwhile the
luggage is being swung down the hold, and some interest is
manifested in the stout, square, little iron bound boxes
which are being carefully counted one by one, and piled up
in a safe corner by themselves. These are full of bullion. A
large rill of that drain of specie, of which we hear so much
talk about nowadays, finds it way through Newhaven to the
Continent. One of our kid glove friends is trying hard to
pass himself off as somehow connected with this costly
freight; but the real officer in charge is that quiet, keen-
eyed gentleman who is standing apart enjoying the joke.
At length everybody and everything are on board, the
moorings unfastened, and with a shrill whistle the Alexandra
glides out of the narrow harbour. Of the voyage little need
be said. The sea is tolerably quiet, and except the foreigners
and one or two Britons who have made up their mind that
they ought to be ill, and must be ill, the company rather
enjoy the fresh sea breeze, which already begins to redden
wan cheeks, blanched by the care and confinement of the
towns, into something like the hue of health. There are
one orl two married couples on board, some of them newly
married, and here we are tempted to make a remark. In
our guide book we find it stated, among other singular cus-
toms of Normandy, that when a marriage occurs there is
sometimes a fight between the bride and her groom at the
altar, for in putting on the ring if the man can push it be-
low the second joint he will be master of his wife and house,
whereas, if he fails, the sway will be with the woman. We
suspect a sea voyage is better calculated to decide the ques-
tion. No matter how low the husband may have thrust
the ring, if he suffers froni the sizal de mer and his wife does
not, you may be sure his superiority is gone for ever. Young
men about to marry, listen to the voice of wisdom and the
counsel of experience—Don't let your wedding trip be across
the waters, unless you are perfectly sure of "sea legs," or
that the angel of your soul will be as bad as yourself 1
Chatting, dozing, sipping brandy and water, promenading,
and killing time in various ways, the five hours and odd
slip past, and we have reached the white cliffs of Dieppe,
which are just the image of those we left on the other side.
No matter how often one crosses the Channel, it is always a
curious sensation for an Englishman to find himself under
the control of a soldier-police. We pass up to the custom-
house between two files of armed men; there are more of
them at the railway station, and we are shut up in a salle
d'attente, in order that the " authority" may have another
opportunity of asserting itself. However, let us be thankful
for the privilege of entering France with the simple decla-
ration, " Je suis Anglais," and without being asked for a
passport.
Dieppe is not a very attractive town. It is moderately
picturesque in parts, and not immoderately dirty except in
the Pollet, where a race of wild fishermen dwell, who speak
a patois of their own, and whom you have no occasion to
visit unless you choose to study manners in a primitive and
savage form. There is a large and handsome Etablissement
de Bains oa the beach, where there are balls, concerts, and
pleasant social gatherings, and the environs in the direction
of Argues are rather pretty. Still, life in Dieppe is flat
and dull. It is a good place to go to, but not to stop in. It
is good to go there, because it is a convenient etarting-point
for several charming spots. A cheap and easy coach ride
along the coast leads, for instance, to St. Valery-en-Caux,
where there is good sea bathing, and quiet quarters in a
quaint little town at the bottoth of a chasm between two
steep heights. Further southwards, also on the coach road,
is Fecamp, where those who like gaiety and fashion by the
seashore will have their desire gratified to the full, It is a
curious little town, built of white and black flints, in a
narrow ravine, with a remarkable old church in its midst,
and the ruins of an abbey in its neighbourhood. Etretat is
nearer Havre, and is a watering place of a different charac-
ter. An enthusiastic licentiate in law, who has to ritten a
little book about Normandy, breaks into sentimental rap-
tures about this little marine village, where handsome villas
stand shoulder to shoulder with the rude cabins of the in-
digenous fishermen. It attracts, we are told, by something
savage and unexpected, the man who delights to study in
the great book of nature, or to dream in solitude on the