recumbent boatman-legger upon the side wall
of the tunnel. As his two legs stuck out
horizontally from the edge of the legging-
board, treading, one over the other, against
the wall, they threw a shadow of two arms,
which seemed to be held by a thin old man
— another shadow of the same substance,
bent nearly double at the stomach, who
worked them over and over, as if turning
two great mangle-handles with both hands
at the same time.

Out of the tunnel, we were again haunted
by the idea of the phantom fowl. On one
side was a fine old granary, that might have
been in Holland over a dyke, with cranes and
horses; making some show of life, and on the
other side were the thatched roofs of another
feeble village. We ventured over the bridge,
grasping our despicable money in our hands,
and found a small, ancient, lop-sided shop,
which had, peradventure, heard in its time
the tramp of Cromwell's soldiers, and had
seen the face of the grim Protector himself:
over its window was a square stone let into
the wall, bearing the date of Anno Domini
sixteen hundred and twelve. This too was
a venerable abode of stagnant commerce.
We asked for some butter, but this could not
be granted to us without an old man being
consulted in the back-parlour, and after some
little delay, we were told that we could have
one quarter of a pound, and no more; the
regular consumption of the village, and the
exact nicety of the supply, not allowing any
very wide margin for hungry strangers.

The common fowl being unknown in this
village, we returned direct to our boat, with
our very scanty, but welcome purchases, and
comforted ourselves with another tea. Milk
— our first milk for two days— had been got,
in the meantime, by one of the boatmen; and
although it had little but its freshness to
recommend it, having been well skimmed (O,
the deluding country!), we settled down
too happy to get anything like milk, to be
very fastidious or discontented.

On we still glided, gently and silently;
through broad, deep valleys; past the fringed
edges of woods; past sighting distant towns,
and churches amongst the hills and trees; past
clumps of hay-stacks and farmhouse barns,
lying deep below us in the distant meadows;
and past lofty stone halls, and broad mansions,
where the slender deer gambolled close
to the open doorways, and the broad, flower-
bordered flights of steps.

While we were openly expressing our
admiration of the prospect, which we might
with justice have done every hour from
Brentford up to the present time, we had
an opportunity of forming an idea of a young
boatman's taste in female beauty, and country-
houses.

"That's a nice gal," said our straw-haired
young man, who was engaged at the tiller;
and who drew our attention to a young
woman driving a horse along the towing-path.

She was dressed in a short-waisted, short-
skirted, blue cotton frock, a pair of laced-up,
heavy boats,— a little less heavy than a boat-
man's boot,— and her bonnet was a quilted
cowl that hung in flaps upon her shoulders;
and formed a tunnel in front, at the dark end
of which was her half-hidden face.

To do her justice, she was clean, and not
coarse; she was youthful, and may have been
lovely in the young boatman's eyes.

"You know her, you young dog! " both
Cuddy and myself shouted to the straw-
haired youth.

"She's the nicest gal on the canal," returned
our young boatman, evasively.

"Who is she?" we asked.

"That's her feyther," he said. " He owns
that barge."

Many boats had passed us, from time to
time, belonging to small proprietors; which,
without being strictly family boats, in the
most deplorable sense of the term, were
worked by members of the same family, as
in the case of this father and daughter. One
barge that passed us was a bridal barge; the
proprietor-captain having that day entered
upon the marriage state; and the funnel was
ornamented with a bunch of white ribbons.
The boatman never loses an opportunity for
a little extra decoration; and our own Stourport,
in honour of our visit, displayed a
couple of small, highly-coloured tin pictures
of flags, pinned with ribbon-streamers to our
cabin funnel.

"Now," the straw-haired young man had
previously said, " we're coomin' to the finest
house on the canal."

We looked out sharply to see the boatman's
notion of the finest house; having already
floated by many park-residences that we
thought could scarcely be equalled, much less
surpassed. It was as we expected. The
finest house in the young boatman's eyes,
was a long, flat, small, county-gaol looking
building; very brazen and vulgar in appearance;
built with several coloured bricks,
and standing in the middle of the only low
meadow-land we had passed for some time.
Its owner was a man who had made money
in the whalebone trade (all honour to his
ability and industry), and his whim was to
have his chief doorway bordered with small
whale's teeth; and to build a boat-house
upon the canal-bank, the entrance to which
was under two large whales' teeth.

One noble mansion that we passed— very
unlike the whalebone dealer's palace of
retirement— seemed to stand upon the summit
of a mountain of rich, dense trees. It
was the home of one of the largest shareholders
in the canal company; and our
young boatman told us stories of alarming
deputations of distressed bargemen waiting
upon the owner to solicit relief, when
frozen out by the ice, which sometimes closes
the canals for weeks. The boatmen, even
now, were beginning to speculate upon the