LIVERPOOL. RAILWAY STATION. 51 



the happy fireside of the friend, in the indistinct memory of 

 which this peculiar odour of English coal had been gratefully 

 associated. 



Coming on shore with no luggage or any particular busi 

 ness to engage our attention, we plunged adventurously into 

 the confused tide of life with which the busy streets were 

 thronged, careless whither it floated us. Emerging from the 

 crowd of porters, hackmen, policemen, and ragged Irish men 

 and women on the dock, we entered the first street that 

 opened before us. On the corner stood a church not un- 

 American in its appearance and we passed without stopping 

 to the next corner, where we paused to &quot;look at the dray- 

 horses, immensely heavy and in elegant condition, fat and 

 glossy, and docile and animated in their expression. They 

 were harnessed, generally, in couples, one before another, to 

 great, strong, low-hung carts, heavy enough alone to be a 

 load for one of our cartmen s light horses. Catching the 

 bustling spirit of the crowd, we walked on at a quick pace, 

 looking at the faces of the men we met more than any thing 

 else, until we came to a wall of hewn drab stone, some fifteen 

 feet high, with a handsomely cut balustrade at the top. There 

 was a large gateway in it, from which a policeman was dri 

 ving away some children. People were going in and out, and 

 we followed in to see what it was. Up stairs, we found our 

 selves on a broad terrace, with a handsome building, in Tus 

 can style, fronting upon it. Another policeman here informed 

 us that it was a railway station. The door was opened as 

 we approached it by a man in a simple uniform, who asked 

 us where we were going. We answered that we merely 

 wished to look at the building. &quot; Walk in, gentlemen ; you 

 will best take the right-hand platform, and return by the 

 other.&quot; A train was backing in ; a man in the same uniform 

 stood in the rear car, and moved his hand round as if turning 



