When I returned from Calais last December, after spending Christmas at
Boulogne according to my custom, the sea was rough as I crossed to Dover
and, having a cold upon me, I went down into the second-class cabin,
cleared the railway books off one of the tables, spread out my papers and
continued my translation, or rather analysis, of the _Iliad_. Several
people of all ages and sexes were on the sofas and they soon began to be
sea-sick. There was no steward, so I got them each a basin and placed it
for them as well as I could; then I sat down again at my table in the
middle and went on with my translation while they were sick all round me.
I had to get the _Iliad_ well into my head before I began my lecture on
_The Humour of Homer_ and I could not afford to throw away a couple of
hours, but I doubt whether Homer was ever before translated under such
circumstances. [1892.]