The temperature, methinks, must
soon diminish the population of Southport, which, judging from
appearances, must be mainly made up of temporary visitors. There is a
newspaper, The Southport Visitor, published weekly, and containing a
register of all the visitants in the various hotels and lodging-houses.
It covers more than two sides of the paper, to the amount of some
hundreds. The guests come chiefly from Liverpool, Manchester, and the
neighboring country-towns, and belong to the middle classes. It is not a
fashionable watering-place. Only one nobleman's name, and those of two
or three baronets, now adorn the list. The people whom we see loitering
along the beach and the promenade have, at best, a well-to-do,
tradesmanlike air. I do not find that there are any public amusements;
nothing but strolling on the sands, donkey-riding, or drives in
donkey-carts; and solitary visitors must find it a dreary place. Yet one
or two of the streets are brisk and lively, and, being well thronged,
have a holiday aspect. There are no carriages in town save donkey-carts;
some of which are drawn by three donkeys abreast, and are large enough to
hold a whole family. These conveyances will take you far out on the
sands through wet and dry. The beach is haunted by The Flying Dutchman,
--a sort of boat on wheels, schooner-rigged with sails, and which
sometimes makes pretty good speed, with a fair wind.
This morning we have been walking with J----- and R----- out over the
"ribbed sea sands," a good distance from shore.
Pages:
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609