Truly we are beyond measure conservative in our railway discomforts. With
a bitter easterly wind searching out the chinks of door and window, we sat
shivering in our unwarmed compartment--unwarmed, I say, in spite of the
clumsy tin of quickly-cooled hot water procured by favour--and a
gratuity--from a porter!
The Channel showed even more disagreeable than usual. A grey, cold sky,
with swift-flying clouds from the east hung over a grey, cold sea, the
waves showing their wicked white teeth under the lash of the strong wind.
The patient lightship off the pier was swinging drearily as we throbbed
past into the gust-swept open and set our bows for the unseen coast of
France.
The tumult of passengers was speedily reduced to a limp and inert swarm of
cold, wet, and sea-sick humanity.
The cold and miserable weather clung to us long. In Paris it snowed
heavily, and I was constrained to betake myself in a cab--"chauffe," it is
needless to remark--to seek out a kindly dentist, the bitter east wind
having sought out and found a weak spot wherein to implant an abscess.
At Bale it was freezing, but clear and bright, and a good breakfast and a
breath of clean, fresh air was truly enjoyable after the overheated
sleeping-car in which we had come from Paris.
It may seem unreasonable to grumble at the overheating of the "Sleeper"
after abusing the under-heating of our British railways. Surely, though,
there is a golden mean? I wish neither to be frozen nor boiled, and there
can be no doubt but that the heating of most Continental trains is
excellent, the power of application being left to the traveller.
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