THE CUSTOM HOUSE.
It was pleasant. We enjoyed it. We fairly reveled in it.
We were hungry, it’s true, but what was hunger to the delight of waiting three hours in an abominable steamer? We were cold and tired. But what of that? We could gaze on white cliffs and talk pleasant things to each other for three hours!
When the tide did serve, and we were landed, which happened about six o’clock Sunday morning, we went through the Custom House, our countenances expressing such Christian resignation as must have indicated our character to the officials, for they never opened our baggage at all. They simply said: “Avez vous tabac ou liquers?” (observe how well we are getting on in French), and as we murmured “No,” aloud, and to ourselves, “but we wish we had,” they waved us on, and we were all right.
HAVE YOU TOBACCO OR SPIRITS?