{"id":"01KG8AKYJN4Y5N4XFSZGXY7MXN","cid":"bafkreic5txgc6llq2bcttnl2nc52vuwz3qogv27vzhvfrstwiphalu7uie","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5600,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.838Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 6","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":5525,"text":"and Public Buildings, particularly the Cathedral; compiled with great\r\npains from the most authentic records.”_ Also a small\r\nscholastic-looking volume, in a classic vellum binding, and with a\r\nfrontispiece bringing together at one view the towers and turrets of\r\nKing’s College and the magnificent Cathedral of Ely, though\r\ngeographically sixteen miles apart, entitled, _“The Cambridge Guide:\r\nits Colleges, Halls, Libraries, and Museums, with the Ceremonies of the\r\nTown and University, and some account of Ely Cathedral.”_ Also a\r\npamphlet, with a japanned sort of cover, stamped with a disorderly\r\nhiggledy-piggledy group of pagoda-looking structures, claiming to be an\r\naccurate representation of the _“North or Grand Front of Blenheim,”_\r\nand entitled, “A _Description of Blenheim, the Seat of His Grace the\r\nDuke of Marlborough; containing a full account of the Paintings,\r\nTapestry, and Furniture: a Picturesque Tour of the Gardens and Parks,\r\nand a General Description of the famous China Gallery,_ &.; _with an\r\nEssay on Landscape Gardening: and embellished with a View of the\r\nPalace, and a New and Elegant Plan of the Great Park.”_ And lastly, and\r\nto the purpose, there was a volume called “THE PICTURE OF LIVERPOOL.”\r\n\r\nIt was a curious and remarkable book; and from the many fond\r\nassociations connected with it, I should like to immortalize it, if I\r\ncould.\r\n\r\nBut let me get it down from its shrine, and paint it, if I may, from\r\nthe life.\r\n\r\nAs I now linger over the volume, to and fro turning the pages so dear\r\nto my boyhood,—the very pages which, years and years ago, my father\r\nturned over amid the very scenes that are here described; what a soft,\r\npleasing sadness steals over me, and how I melt into the past and\r\nforgotten!\r\n\r\nDear book! I will sell my Shakespeare, and even sacrifice my old quarto\r\nHogarth, before I will part with you. Yes, I will go to the hammer\r\nmyself, ere I send you to be knocked down in the auctioneer’s shambles.\r\nI will, my beloved,—old family relic that you are;—till you drop leaf\r\nfrom leaf, and letter from letter, you shall have a snug shelf\r\nsomewhere, though I have no bench for myself.\r\n\r\nIn size, it is what the booksellers call an _18mo;_ it is bound in\r\ngreen morocco, which from my earliest recollection has been spotted and\r\ntarnished with time; the corners are marked with triangular patches of\r\nred, like little cocked hats; and some unknown Goth has inflicted an\r\nincurable wound upon the back. There is no lettering outside; so that\r\nhe who lounges past my humble shelves, seldom dreams of opening the\r\nanonymous little book in green. There it stands; day after day, week\r\nafter week, year after year; and no one but myself regards it. But I\r\nmake up for all neglects, with my own abounding love for it.\r\n\r\nBut let us open the volume.\r\n\r\nWhat are these scrawls in the fly-leaves? what incorrigible pupil of a\r\nwriting-master has been here? what crayon sketcher of wild animals and\r\nfalling air-castles? Ah, no!—these are all part and parcel of the\r\nprecious book, which go to make up the sum of its treasure to me.\r\n\r\nSome of the scrawls are my own; and as poets do with their juvenile\r\nsonnets, I might write under this horse, _“Drawn at the age of three\r\nyears,”_ and under this autograph, _“Executed at the age of eight.”_\r\n\r\nOthers are the handiwork of my brothers, and sisters, and cousins; and\r\nthe hands that sketched some of them are now moldered away.\r\n\r\nBut what does this anchor here? this ship? and this sea-ditty of\r\nDibdin’s? The book must have fallen into the hands of some tarry\r\ncaptain of a forecastle. No: that anchor, ship, and Dibdin’s ditty are\r\nmine; this hand drew them; and on this very voyage to Liverpool. But\r\nnot so fast; I did not mean to tell that yet.\r\n\r\nFull in the midst of these pencil scrawlings, completely surrounded\r\nindeed, stands in indelible, though faded ink, and in my father’s\r\nhand-writing, the following:—\r\n\r\nWALTER REDBURN.\r\n\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 6"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJRM0AKT1HBDD19XJYXXB","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKYJDE1CQ0YF4F0ETJ1NE","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKRPJX6SFXCVM46W2K0JJ","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:21.077Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:29.511Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}