It is a strange, vagabond, gypsy sort of life,--this that we are leading;
and I know not whether we shall finally be spoiled for any other, or
shall enjoy our quiet Wayside, as we never did before, when once we reach
it again.
The evening set in misty and obscure; and it was dark almost when J-----
and I arrived at the landing stage on our return. I was struck with the
picturesque effect of the high tower and tall spire of St. Nicholas,
rising upward, with dim outline, into the duskiness; while midway of its
height the dial-plates of an illuminated clock blazed out, like two great
eyes of a giant.
September 13th.--On Saturday my wife, with all her train, arrived at Mrs.
B------'s; and on Tuesday--vagabonds as we are--we again struck our tent,
and set out for
SOUTHPORT.
I do not know what sort of character it will form in the children,--this
unsettled, shifting, vagrant life, with no central home to turn to,
except what we carry in ourselves. It was a windy day, and, judging by
the look of the trees, on the way to Southport, it must be almost always
windy, and with the blast in one prevailing direction; for invariably
their branches, and the whole contour and attitude of the tree, turn from
seaward, with a strangely forlorn aspect. Reaching Southport, we took an
omnibus, and under the driver's guidance came to our tall stone house,
fronting on the sands, and styled "Brunswick Terrace." . . . .
The English system of lodging-houses has its good points; but it is,
nevertheless, a contrivance for bearing the domestic cares of home about
with you whithersoever you go; and immediately you have to set about
producing your own bread and cheese.
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