The new North-west. [volume] (Deer Lodge, Mont.) 1869-1897, 1874-06-06
The Danbury News Man in England.

Bailey, the .Danbury Nesos man, saile6
for England short time since in the
Abyssinnia. The following are extracts
from his letter from Liverpool.
APPROACHING LIVERPOOL.
In the afternoon the fog again settled
down upon us, and we craWIed up the chan
mel in most cautious manner.
In the evening, with the fog and moon
| light struggling in the air, we promenaded
the deck, sang our songs, told over our
plans and dreaded the molIow,-tlle morrow
that was to break us UP, and scatter us all
| over q continent.
One of the sad episodes of the evening
was my borrowing knife from smoker of
plug tobacco to peel an orange for one of
/ the ladies.
But how was to know that he smoked
plug tobacco, and had but utsc kuifc?
was sea-siek three days Of the trip-by
marriage. ..r
LIVERPOOL.
At o'clock the next morning we reached
the harbor Of Liverpool, and stood awe
struck by the imnensity of the city's dock
age. which, stretching the whole length of
the city front, a ponderous wall of stone
inclesing basins which accommodate the
largest vessels af1oat-held the attention
and elected the admiration of the most
radical American.
You hear of the docks of Liverpool long
before you reach them, and for some time
after it is difficult to get out Of reach of
their praises.
Docks are well enough i'll their way, but
no one wants to be dosed with docks all the
time. No Modoes for me.
,f% he Ixt1, +1nir
thousands Of tons of shipping, are miles of
broad streets, narrow streets, lanes and
courts, whose pavements are always clean,
whose walls are always dingy. The Liver
pool house is built Of a mottled green and
yellow brick, which new, is dingy, and
almost as dingy as it ever becomes in it's
contact with the cllnging smoke of soft
coal universally used i'll this country. The
houses are devoid of architectural claim,
being square boxed, with little or no trim
ming, and this attempt at relief being
yellow stone that strengthens rather than
diminisles the primness.
We never hear of Liverpool only in con-
nection with commerce of Il cosmopolitan
character. 1t has no speciality in trade to
tasten it on the mind OF the:general reader
1t has no antiquities. 1t has no history.
There is nothing about this place i'll com
mon with the country of which it forms
part. and to the tourist it is simply a land
ing place.
There is not wooden building to my
knowledge i'll Liverpool. Every wall is OF
brick or stone, and every roof is OF tile.
There are no shingles i'll Liverpool; nothing
of that kind to throw gobs OF mud with.
How grateful every American boy should
be that he lives ina free country, where
l.; 70 I,,F
a PICTURESQUE RUIN.
/ strolled out to the parks in the afternoon
aud gazed Ill raptures upon the smooth
roadways, the pleasant walks, the acres OF
even sward, and the profusion Of brilliant
flowers.
had left home but ten days before,
where the ground was brown and frozen,
the trees bare, and the air chilled by threat
ening SHOWS. Here was all green and bloom,
and the change was most acceptable. The
season here is from a month to six weeks
earlier than that OF New England.
s9 Coming back from the PARKS sIiied from
the cab window the unmistakable indication
OF what my soul had painted for for years
what the soul of every student OF tie old
world pants for from the cradle to it's Ieall-
Zation-the broken walls OF d ruin. There
they lay before me with the sunlight touch
ing up their moses, and bringing into
strong relief their broken and worn edges.
bade the cabman to stop, and feasted my
eyes on the sight 1t was NOT very large
ruin, but it was a pretty good sized ruin Tor
a Sunday. pictured to myself the day
when it stood as a whole, with its long line
of masters alternating in the possession,
and making the walls reverberato with the
flow Of mirth and banqueting. How many
Il merry step had passed along its corridors,
and how many sad face had peered from
it's lattiees. A flood ef strange weird reve-
ries set i'll upon my soul and carried me by
it's power away down the ages that are gone.
said to the eabman: 'HoW old a ruin is
that" pointing to the walls with a tremb-
ling finger.
That? That's a new 'ouse going up
for Peter Stevenson, the linen draper on
George street,