At starting it seemed easy to reach Carlisle for the night, but progress was slow and we met an unexpected delay at Warrington, twenty miles north of Chester.  A policeman courteously notified us that the main street of the city would be closed three hours for a Sunday School parade.  We had arrived five minutes too late to get across the bridge and out of the way.  We expressed our disgust at the situation and the officer made the conciliatory suggestion that we might be able to go on anyway.  He doubted if the city had any authority to close the main street, one of the King’s highways, on account of such a procession.  We hardly considered our rights so seriously infringed as to demand such a remedy, and we turned into the stable-yard of a nearby hotel to wait until the streets were clear.  In the meantime we joined the crowd that watched the parade.  The main procession, of five or six thousand children, was made up of Sunday Schools of the Protestant churches—­the Church of England and the “Non-Conformists.”  The Catholics, whose relations in England with Protestants are strained to a much greater extent than in the United States, did not join, but formed a smaller procession in one of the side streets.  The parade was brilliant with flags and with huge banners bearing portraits of the King and Queen, though some bore the names and emblems of the different schools.  One small fellow proudly flourished the Stars and Stripes, which was the only foreign flag among the thousands in the procession.  In this connection I might remark that one sees the American flag over here far oftener than he would traveling in America.  We found nothing but the kindest and most cordial feeling toward Americans everywhere; and the very fact that we were Americans secured us special privileges in not a few cases.

After the procession had crossed the bridge, a policeman informed us that we could proceed.  We gained considerable time by making a detour through side streets—­not an altogether easy performance—­and after much inquiry regained the main road leading out of the city.  Warrington is a city of more than one hundred and twenty thousand inhabitants, a manufacturing place with nothing to detain the tourist.  On the main street near the river is a fine bronze statue of Oliver Cromwell, one of four that I saw erected to the memory of the Protector in England.  Our route from Warrington led through Wigan and Preston, manufacturing cities of nearly one hundred thousand each, and the suburbs of the three are almost continuous.  Tram cars were numerous and children played everywhere with utter unconcern for the vehicles which crowded the streets.