CHAPTER VI

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THE PEOPLE AT LIVERPOOL.—POVERTY.—MERCHANTS.—SHOPKEEPERS.— WOMEN.—SOLDIERS.—CHILDREN.—DONKEYS AND DRAY HORSES.

[Sidenote: _LIVERPOOL PEOPLE._]

I have mentioned the most general features of the town which, at first sight, on landing in Europe from New York, strike me as peculiar. Having given you its still life, you will wish me to people it.

After we had wandered for about an hour through the streets the first afternoon we were ashore, I remarked that we had not yet seen a single well-dressed man, not one person that in America would have been described as “of respectable appearance.” We were astonished to observe with what an unmingled stream of poverty the streets were swollen, and J. remarked that if what we had seen was a fair indication of the general condition of the masses here, he should hardly feel justified in dissuading them from using violent and anarchical means to bring down to themselves a share of the opportunities and comforts of those “higher classes” that seem to be so utterly separated from them. There are a great many Irish in Liverpool, but the most that we had thus far seen evidently were English, yet not English as we have known them. Instead of the stout, full-faced John Bulls, we had seen but few that were not thin, meagre, and pale. There was somewhat rarely an appearance of actual misery, but a stupid, hopeless, state-prison-for-life sort of expression. There were not unfrequently some exceptions to this, but these were men almost invariably in some uniform or livery, as railroad hands, servants, and soldiers.

The next morning, in the court-yard of the Exchange (the regular ’Change assemblage seemed to meet out of doors), we saw a large collection of the merchants. There was nothing to distinguish them from a company of a similar kind with us, beyond a general Englishness of features and an entire absence of all _oddities_—with astonishing beards and singularities of costume. One young man only wore small clothes and leggins, which would perhaps have disagreeably subjected him to be noticed with us. They were stouter than our merchants, and more chubby-faced, yet not looking in vigorous health. They were, on the whole, judging by a glance at their outsides, to be more respected than any lot of men of the same number that I ever saw together in Wall street. Many of them, and most of the well-dressed men that we have seen in the streets, have had a green leaf and simple _posy_ in a button-hole of their coats.

The shopkeepers of the better class, or retail merchants, are exactly the same men, to all appearance, that stand behind the counters with us. _Merchant_, means only a wholesale dealer in England; retailers are _shopkeepers_. The word _store_ is never applied to a building; but the building in which goods are stored is a _warehouse_.

Women are more employed in trade than with us; I have no doubt with every way great advantage. The women in the streets are more noticeably different from ours than the men. In general, they are very cheaply and coarsely clad. Many of the lower class have their outer garments ordinarily drawn up behind, in the scrubbing-floor fashion. Caps are universally worn, and being generally nice and white, they have a pleasant effect upon the face. The very poorest women look very miserably. We see bruised eyes not unfrequently, and there is evidently a good deal of hard drinking among them. They are larger and stouter, and have coarser features. There are neither as many pretty nor as many ugly faces as with us; indeed, there are very few remarkably ill-favoured in that respect, and almost none strikingly handsome. The best faces we have seen were among the fish-stalls in market. With scarcely an exception, the fish-women were very large and tall, and though many of them were in the neighbourhood of fifty, they had invariably full, bright, unwrinkled faces, beautiful red cheeks, and a cheerful expression. English women, generally, appear more bold and self-reliant, their _action_ is more energetic, and their carriage less graceful and drooping than ours. Those well dressed that we have seen, while _shopping_, for instance, are no exceptions. Those we have met to converse with are as modest and complaisant as could be desired, yet speak with a marked promptness and confidence which is animating and attractive. We met a small company last night at the residence of a gentleman to whom we had a letter, and spent the evening precisely as we should at a small tea-party at home; we might easily have imagined ourselves in New England. The gentlemen were no way different, that we noticed, from cultivated men with us, and the ladies only seemed rather more frank, hearty, and sincere-natured than we should expect ours to be to strangers.[2] There was nothing in their dresses that I can think of as peculiar, yet a general air, not American—a heavier look and more _crinkles_, and darker and more mixed-up colours. We see many rather nice-looking females, probably coming in from the country, driving themselves about town as if they understood it, in jaunty-looking chaises and spring-carts. As J. and I were standing this noon by the window of a curiosity-shop, a lady addressed us: “This is very curious; have you noticed it?” (pointing at something within the window). “I wish you would help me to read what is written upon it.” She spoke exactly as if she _belonged to our party_. She was not young or gayly-dressed, but had all the appearance and used the language of a well-bred and educated woman. We conversed with her for a minute or two about the article, which was some specimen of Australian natural history.

[2] These ladies were Irish. The remark hardly applies to English ladies, certainly not unless you meet them domestically. The English in their _homes_, and the English “_in company_,” are singularly opposite characters.

There are a good many soldiers moving about in fine undress uniforms; one regiment is in blue, which I did not suppose the British ever used. The men look well—more intelligent than you would suppose. Many are quite old, grey-headed, and all are very neat and orderly in the streets.

[Sidenote: _CHILDREN’S DRESS.—DONKEYS._]

The children look really _punchy_. It strikes me the young ones are dressed much older, while the young men are clothed much more boyishly than in America. Quite large children, of both sexes, are dressed exactly alike, and whether girls or boys (they look between both), you cannot guess—girls with fur hats, such as full-grown men wear, and boys in short dresses and pantalettes.

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There are lots of the queerest little donkeys in the streets; some of them would not weigh more than Nep (my Newfoundland dog), and most of them are not as large as our two-year-old steers. They are made to draw most enormous loads. I saw one tugging a load of coal, on the top of which two stout Irishmen sat, and stopped them to ask the weight. It was 1200 (besides themselves), and the top of the donkey’s back was just even with my waist. The driver said he bought her five years ago for two pounds ($10), and she was then called an old one. Here is one now coming up the hill with a great load of furniture, a man on behind it, and a boy on the shafts—a poor little rat of a thing, with the meekest expression you can conceive of. It is just as much as he can stagger along with, and the boy jumps off to relieve—no! the young satan has gone to his head and is cudgelling him. The poor little donkey winks and turns his head, and drops his ears, and nearly falls down. The boy stops (probably a policeman heaves in sight) and takes his seat on the shaft again, and the donkey reels on. The man aft has continued his smoking all the while, without taking any notice of the delay. As I write, there goes by another—a very handsome, large fat one, drawing a market cart, with a pretty country girl among the hampers driving.

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