The whole
ceremony did not occupy two hours.
We were inquiring of some friends for the most convenient hotel, when
we found the son of Mr. Cropper, of Dingle Bank, waiting in the cabin
to take us with him to their hospitable abode. In a few moments after
the baggage had been examined, we all bade adieu to the old ship, and
went on board the little steam tender which carries passengers up to
the city.
This Mersey River would be a very beautiful one, if it were not so
dingy and muddy. As we are sailing up in the tender towards Liverpool,
I deplore the circumstance feelingly.
"What does make this river so muddy?"
"Oh," says a by-stander, "don't you know that
"'The quality of mercy is not strained'?"
I had an early opportunity of making acquaintance with my English
brethren; for, much to my astonishment, I found quite a crowd on the
wharf, and we walked up to our carriage through a long lane of people,
bowing, and looking very glad to see us.
When I came to get into the hack it was surrounded by more faces than
I could count. They stood very quietly, and looked very kindly, though
evidently very much determined to look. Something prevented the hack
from moving on; so the interview was prolonged for some time.
Our carriage at last drove on, taking us through Liverpool and a mile
or two out, and at length wound its way along the gravel paths of a
beautiful little retreat, on the banks of the Mersey, called the
"Dingle.
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