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A Comedy Of Masks

By:
User: silviya
A Comedy Of Masks
In That Intricate And Obscure Locality, Which Stretches Between The
Tower And Poplar, A Tarry Region, Scarcely Suspected By The Majority
Of Londoners, To Whom The "Port Of London" Is An Expression Purely
Geographical, There Is, Or Was Not Many Years Ago, To Be Found A
Certain Dry Dock Called Blackpool, But Better Known From Time
Immemorial To Skippers And Longshoremen, And All Who Go Down To The
Sea In Ships, As "Rainham's Dock."

Many Years Ago, In The Days Of The First Rainham And Of Wooden
Ships, It Had Been No Doubt A Flourishing Ship-Yard; And, Indeed,
Models Of Wooden Leviathans Of The Period, Which Had Been Turned
Out, Not A Few, In Those Palmy Days, Were Still Dusty Ornaments Of
Its Somewhat Antique Office. But As Time Went On, And The Age Of
Iron Intervened, And The Advance On The Clyde And The Tyne Had Made
Thames Ship-Building A Thing Of The Past, Blackpool Dock Had Ceased
To Be Of Commercial Importance. No More Ships Were Built There, And
Fewer Ships Put In To Be Overhauled And Painted; While Even These
Were For The Most Part Of A Class Viewed At Lloyd's With Scant
Favour, Which Seemed, Like The Yard Itself, To Have Fallen Somewhat
Behind The Day.

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