Again we admired old Greenwich, sighed over deserted Woolwich, smelt Crossness, which ought to have an Eau like Cologne, passed dreamily on to Gravesend, Sheerness and Southend, and with a steady pace reached the Nore and found the briny tranquil as Virginia Water. A lovely moon lighted us through the piles of the Ostend breakwater, and after the usual rocket had been fired to ascertain that the passage was clear (for it is a nasty narrow little place to enter), we drew up at the port to be bullied by our ancient enemies, the passport inspectors.