Robert Southey

Voyage to Liverpool.—Filthy Custom at the Inns.—School of the Blind.—AthenÆum.—Mr Roscoe.—Journey to Kendal.

We left Chester yesterday at noon, and embarked again upon a canal. Our last navigation had ended by transferring us to a coach; we had now to undergo a more unpleasant transfer. The canal reached the Mersey, a huge river which forms the port of Liverpool, across which we had about three leagues to sail in a slant direction. A vessel was ready to receive us, on board of which we embarked, and set sail with a slack wind. At first it was pleasant sailing,—the day fair, a castellated hill in full view up the river, and Liverpool at a distance, near to its mouth, upon the northern shore. But the wind rose, the water became rough, there came on a gale from the west with heavy rain, which drove us below deck, and then we were driven up again by the stench of a close cabin, and the sickness of women and children. The gale was so strong that we had reason to be thankful for reaching the town in safety.

Immediately upon our landing we were surrounded by boys proffering cards of the different inns by which they were employed to look out for strangers, and contesting who should carry our luggage. The rain continued, and confined us for the evening. They have a filthy custom at the inns in England, that when you pull off your boots, the man brings you a pair of old slippers, which serve for all travellers, and indeed are frequently worn-out shoes with the heels cut away: clean as the English are, this impropriety does not in the slightest degree offend them.

The next morning we enquired for a gentleman with whom I had been acquainted in London. A book containing the names and place of abode of all the inhabitants is kept in every inn: so that there was no difficulty in finding him out. With him we spent the day, and were obliged to him for showing us whatever was most worthy of notice in the town. There is no cathedral, no castle, gate, town-wall, or monument of antiquity, no marks of decay. Every thing is the work of late years, almost of the present generation.

There is but one fine street in the city, which is terminated by the Exchange, a handsome structure; but as you look up the street to it, it is not in the centre, and this irregularity produces a singularly unpleasant effect. One side of the street, it seems, was built with reference to this Exchange, and the other was to have corresponded with it; but when the governors of the city came to purchase the ground, some obstacles were discovered which had not been foreseen. As there are few fine streets, so there are few which display much poverty: this external appearance of prosperity is purchased at a dear price; for the poor, as in Manchester, live mostly in cellars, underground. The height of some of the warehouses excited the wonder of my companion, and he expressed his surprise that I should not be astonished at them also. In fact, old houses in England are generally lower than modern ones, and even these have never more than four floors. Yet the value of ground is prodigiously great, and the island is not subject to earthquakes.

Here is a hospital for horses, of which the sign-board caught my eye as we passed along. We visited a school for the blind, a sight as interesting as it was melancholy. They make curtain lines by a machine which a blind man contrived; list-slippers, which were an invention of the French emigrants; baskets;—every thing, in short, in which the sense of sight can be supplied by touch. It was surprising to see them move about the room, steering clear of every thing as surely as though they had seen what was before them,—as if they had possessed that sixth sense, which experimental naturalists, the most merciless of human beings, are said to have discovered in bats, when they have put out their eyes for the sake of seeing how the tortured animal can find its way without them. They sung a hymn for our gratification: their voices were fine; and the deep attention which was manifest in their eyeless faces, dead as they necessarily were to all external objects which could distract them, was affecting and even awful. Such as discover a taste for music are instructed in it; and some have been thus enabled to support themselves as organists in the churches, and by tuning instruments. The blind must be very numerous in England, as I am told there are many such institutions; but there is good reason to hope that the number will be materially lessened in future by the vaccine inoculation, a very large proportion of these poor sufferers having lost their eyes by the smallpox.

Liverpool has become a place of great maritime trade, against every natural disadvantage. The river is sheltered only from the north, and at low-water sand-banks may be seen round its mouth for leagues off in every direction. Vessels when leaving port easily avoid them, because they start with a fair wind, but to returning ships they are far more perilous. In spite of this, there is not any other place where so much mercantile enterprise is displayed in England, nor perhaps in the whole world.—Two ships came in while we were upon the quay: it was a beautiful sight to see them enter the docks and take their quiet station, a crowd flocking towards them, some in curiosity to know what they were, others in hope and in fear, hastening to see who had returned in them.

Fortunes are made here with a rapidity unexampled in any other part of England. It is true that many adventurers fail; yet with all the ups and downs of commercial speculation, Liverpool prospers beyond all other ports. There is too a princely liberality in its merchants, which, even in London, is not rivalled. Let any thing be proposed for the advantage and ornament, or honour of the town, however little akin it may be to their own pursuits, habits, and feelings, they are ready with subscriptions to any amount. It has lately been resolved upon to have a botanical garden here; a large sum has been raised for the purpose, and the ground purchased. "It will be long," said I to our friend, "before this can be brought to any perfection." "Oh, sir," said he, with a smile of triumph which it was delightful to perceive, "you do not know how we do things at Liverpool. Money and activity work wonders. In half a dozen years we shall have the finest in England."

The history of their AthenÆum is a striking instance of their spirit:—by this name they call a public library, with a reading-room for the newspapers and other journals,—for all periodical publications, whether daily, monthly, quarterly, or yearly, are called journals in England. Two of the literary inhabitants were talking one day after dinner of the want of a public library in the town, and they agreed to call a meeting for the purpose of forming one. The meeting was advertised,—they went to it,—and found themselves alone. "What shall we do now?" said the one: "here is an end of the business." "No," said his friend;—"take you the chair, I will be secretary; we will draw up our resolutions unanimously, and advertise them." They did so; and in four-and-twenty-hours sufficient funds were subscribed to establish the finest institution of the kind in the kingdom.

Literature also flourishes as fairly as commerce. A history of Lorenzo de Medici appeared here about eight years ago, which even the Italians have thought worthy of translation. The libraries of Florence were searched for materials for this work, and many writings of Lorenzo himself first given to the world in Liverpool. This work of Mr Roscoe's has diffused a general taste for the literature of Italy. It has been said of men of letters, that, like prophets, they have no honour in their own country; but to this saying, to which there are so few exceptions, one honourable one is to be found here. The people of Liverpool are proud of their townsman: whether they read his book or not, they are sensible it has reflected honour upon their town in the eyes of England and of Europe, and they have a love and jealousy of its honour, which has seldom been found any where except in those cities where that love was nationality, because the city and the state were the same. This high and just estimation of Mr Roscoe is the more praiseworthy, because he is known to be an enemy to the slave-trade, the peculiar disgrace of Liverpool.

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We had choice of stage-coaches to Kendal, but it was only a choice between two of the same sort, the long, coffin-shaped machines, of which we had had so bad a sample between Worcester and Birmingham. One of these we ascended at seven this morning for a day's journey of twenty leagues. The outskirts of Liverpool have an unsightly appearance,—new streets of houses for the poorer classes, which bear no marks either of cleanliness or comfort, fields cut up for the foundations of other buildings, brick yards, and kilns smoking on every side. It was not easy to say where the town ended; for the paved way, which in all other parts of England ends with the town, continued here the whole stage, sorely to our annoyance. We passed through Ormskirk, a town chiefly famous for the preparation of a nostrum of more repute than efficacy against hydrophobia, and breakfasted a stage beyond it, at a single inn beside a bridge, the worst and dirtiest house of entertainment which I have yet seen in England. Sometimes we had a view of the sea towards Ireland; but the country was flat and unpleasant, and the trees all blighted and stunted in their growth; they seemed to have shrunk and twisted themselves to avoid the severity of the sea-blasts.

Preston was the next stage, a large manufacturing town: before we entered it we crossed the river Ribble by a good bridge, and immediately ascended a long hill,—it was the only pleasant spot which we had seen upon the way. Near this place an officer once met his death in battle by a singular accident. His horse upon some disgust he took at the guns, as the old writer oddly expresses it, ran off and leapt a ditch; the man's sword fell, and at the same minute he was thrown upon its point, and it ran him through. There is a spring about three leagues from hence, the water of which will burn with a blue flame like spirits of wine. Beyond Preston the roads were good, and the country also improved. We changed horses again at Garstang, a little town where the picture over the inn door caught my notice. It was an eagle carrying away a child—representing a circumstance which is believed to have happened in old times in this part of the country. Near the town we saw the ruins of a castle to the right. Another easy stage brought us to Lancaster, one of the best built cities in the kingdom. The view as we left it after dinner was truly fine; two stone bridges over the river Lon, the town on the opposite bank, and on the highest part of the hill a castle, which has been newly built or repaired as a prison.—Lancaster could scarcely have appeared more beautiful in the days of the shield and the lance. Our land of promise was now in sight; high mountains seen across a great bay, with all the aËrial hues of distance: but the clouds gathered, and we were driven to take shelter in the coach from a heavy rain. About ten we arrived at Kendal. Here, while supper was preparing, we sent for A Guide to the Lakes, and a map of them. This is one of the comforts of travelling in England;—wherever you go, printed information is to be found concerning every thing which deserves a stranger's notice. From hence our pedestrian expedition was to begin. We took out our knapsacks, stored them with a change of linen, &c., and dispatched our trunks by the carrier to meet us at Ambleside.

They produced at supper potted char, which is their delicacy, this fish being peculiar to the Lakes. So many are potted and sent to other parts of the country, chiefly as presents, that pots are made on purpose, which have on them a rude representation of the fish. It resembles a trout, but is I am told more beautifully spotted, and of a more delicate flavour. In its potted state it was very good, as I suppose any eatable fish would have been if prepared in the same manner.