THE WHARVES. 2C 



none of the noise which is a disagreeable attend- 

 ant on all business about the wharves of other 

 large cities. In this, more than aught else, New 

 Bedford differs from any other American seaport. 



The stranger, placed on these wharves, in igno- 

 rance of his locality, would not long be without 

 the material on which to predicate a reasonable 

 guess. At every few steps, all locomotion is hin- 

 dered or obstructed by long tiers of huge, dirty 

 casks, redolent of train oil, while ever and 

 anon, one stumbles over a bundle of whalebone, 

 or brings up against a pile of harpoons, lances, 

 boatspades, and other implements for dealing 

 death to leviathan all of which proclaim "in 

 language not to be mistaken," the calling of the 

 place. With here and there a patched, weather- 

 beaten whaleboat, turned bottom up upon the 

 shore, and an occasional pile of oars, the view is 

 tolerably complete. 



But I imagine the wharves of New Bedford 

 would be incomplete without a due sprinkling 

 of prospective whalemen, wandering listlessly 

 about, looking up with silent wonder at the, to 

 them, vast hight of the ships' masts, or perhaps 

 sagely inquiring "when the apartments for the 

 sailors will be ready for their reception ?" 



My first day in New Bedford was devoted to a 

 lengthened stroll through the city, and over the 

 wharves. I satisfied a curiosity long entertained, 

 by a close examination of several whaling vessels, 

 just come home, or being fitted for a cruise, an ci 

 3 



