Nothing in those days could have been more striking than the vast,
empty basins, surrounded by miles of bare quays and the ranges of
cargo-sheds, where two or three ships seemed lost like bewitched
children in a forest of gaunt, hydraulic cranes. One received a
wonderful impression of utter abandonment, of wasted efficiency.
From the first the Tilbury Docks were very efficient and ready for
their task, but they had come, perhaps, too soon into the field. A
great future lies before Tilbury Docks. They shall never fill a
long-felt want (in the sacramental phrase that is applied to
railways, tunnels, newspapers, and new editions of books). They
were too early in the field. The want shall never be felt because,
free of the trammels of the tide, easy of access, magnificent and
desolate, they are already there, prepared to take and keep the
biggest ships that float upon the sea. They are worthy of the
oldest river port in the world.

And, truth to say, for all the criticisms flung upon the heads of
the dock companies, the other docks of the Thames are no disgrace
to the town with a population greater than that of some
commonwealths. The growth of London as a well-equipped port has
been slow, while not unworthy of a great capital, of a great centre
of distribution. It must not be forgotten that London has not the
backing of great industrial districts or great fields of natural
exploitation. In this it differs from Liverpool, from Cardiff,
from Newcastle, from Glasgow; and therein the Thames differs from
the Mersey, from the Tyne, from the Clyde. It is an historical
river; it is a romantic stream flowing through the centre of great
affairs, and for all the criticism of the river's administration,
my contention is that its development has been worthy of its
dignity. For a long time the stream itself could accommodate quite