The next morning we started for Birmingham, ninety-seven miles from
Liverpool, on our way to London, as I am unable to travel the whole
way in a day. On this railway I felt for the first time the
superiority of England to our own country. The cars are divided
into first, second, and third classes. We took a first-class car,
which has all the comforts of a private carriage.

Just as we entered Birmingham I observed the finest seat, surrounded
by a park wall and with a very picturesque old church, that I had
seen on the way. On enquiring of young Mr. Van Wart, who came to
see us in Birmingham (the nephew of Washington Irving), whose place
it was, he said it was now called Aston Hall and was owned by Mr.
Watt, but it was formerly owned by the Bracebridges, and was the
veritable "Bracebridge Hall," and that his uncle had passed his
Christmas there.

On arriving here we found our rooms all ready for us at Long's
Hotel, kept by Mr. Markwell, a wine merchant. The house is in New
Bond Street, in the very centre of movement at the West End, and Mr.
Markwell full of personal assiduity, which we never see with us. He
comes to the carriage himself, gives me his arm to go upstairs, is
so much obliged to us for honoring his house, ushers you in to
dinner, at least on the first day, and seats you, etc., etc.

Do not imagine us in fresh, new-looking rooms as we should be in New
York or Philadelphia. No, in London even new things look old, but
almost everything IS old. Our parlor has three windows down to the
floor, but it is very dark. The paint is maple color, and
everything is dingy in appearance. The window in my bedroom looks