St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1896-11-20

man on the ground shouIdered my
trunk and made for the Yarmouth
boat. My stopping to purchase a
ticket caused me to lose sight of him.
Hurrying through the crowd |
stepped aboard.
us this the Yarmouth boat?"
"No, the boat is gone"
"Where do you go?"
ITO Clacton."
Every we'll" said, "I'Il go to
CIacton. But where is my luggage ?"
ut has likely been taken to the
next boat, long side this" With a
grain of hope left l hurried across
the plank to the next boat and
resumed inquiries.
rs this the Yarmouth boat?"
"No, it is gone"
"Where do you go?"
"To Margote.
every WELL" Irepled, "I'll go to
Margote."
Just then | saw before me the faith
full carrier sitting on my trunk. He
had done well. Had there been
another boat farther outin the river
ne would have boarded that. AS |
was settling myself for visit to a
popular Kentish watering place a
genial officer accosted me:
do you wish to go to Yarmouth,
SIR"
Yes" said, my ticket so pro-
vides."
"All right, sir, we overtake the
Yarmouth at Tibury, thirty miles
down, and you can easily get aboard
of her. We make provision for be-
lated travellers. "
Suppose a woman had been my
companion in the enterprise?
The Thames is always interesting.
OF the ten miles of docks many are
very ole, rickety, and the suitable
abode of innumerable wharf rats.
At some points substantial blocks
have supplemented the more pictur-
esque remains Of former ages.
The new tower bridge, built to
relieve London bridge, is imposing.
Its four stone piers suggest as many
white lighthouses which will ere
long be blackened on one side, at
least, by London SCOT. The ponder
Gus halves of the driveway rise with
ease and grace to let the tall masts
through. Every imaginable craft is
ahoat, from the oceangreyhound to
the skiff. Nor are these confined to
the river. Down a few miles water.
ways penetrate inland. Large craft
in the docks there seem to us to be
sailing on land, and bulls rise out of
green fields.
The southern shore holds our close
attention, for is not this the north
ern bound of Kent? The higher
grounds of Greenwich are dim in the
mist. Woolrich lines the river bank
for two miles melting a vivid mem
DRY of her once famous dockyard.
The royal arsenal is now here and,
back upon the hill, are the artillery
barracks and hospital. We steam
for miles along marshes-Phunstead,
Firth, hartford, Stowe, Swanscome
thinking all the while of the coun-
try that lies back of them. One
more bend of the river and Gravesend
appears. The name is charm. 1t
is the old Gravesham of "Doomsday
Book" then mere hythe or land
ing place. A town grew and marked
the boundary of the port of London,
thirty miles from the city by river.
Here the fleets of Cabot and Frob-
Usher assembled. officials from
London met here their guests from
over the channel and conducted
them up stream in stately process
sion. Back of Gravesend four miles
Dickens lived and died. BY the way,
Peggotty and Ham landed here to
visit David Copper6eld in school at
Salem House.
A London fish dealer beguiled our
moments as we steamed on down
the broadening river. He had known
these banks for thirty years and
made every turn and shallow. With
an accent most peculiar and many
word foreign to an American ear,
he waxed eloquent over Isle of
Grain and Shearness and the Med.