Arrival at Charing Cross. — I have Nothing to Declare to the Exciseman but Low Spirits. — Difficulty in Finding a Good Residence. — Board and Lodging. — A House with Creepers. — Things look Bad. — Things look Worse. — Things look Cheerful.
8th July, 1872.
8.30 P.M.—Landed at Folkestone. The London train is ready. The fog is very thick. I expected as much. My English traveling companions remark on it, and exclaim that "this is most unusual weather." This makes me smile.
10.15 P.M.—The train crosses the Thames. We are in London. This is not my station, however, I am told. The train restarts almost immediately, and crosses the river again. Perhaps it takes me back to Paris. Hallo! how strange! the train crosses another river.
"This is a town very much like Amsterdam," I say to my neighbor.
He explains to me the round taken by the South-Eastern trains from Cannon Street to Charing Cross.
10.25 P.M.—Charing Cross! At last, here I am. The luggage is on the platform. I recognize my trunk and portmanteau.
A tall official addresses me in a solemn tone:
"Have you any thing to declare?"
"Not any thing."