had mostly the same deserted, uncared-for
aspect. He was tempted often to put the
question ; — had they gotten into Dutch chancery,
and the lord high functionary taken
them into his legal keeping ?

Hard road again. More trudging. More
Rotten Row. More canals crossing. More
Rialto bridging. The country, however, now
begins to crowd a little. A house or two, a
figure or two, a cart or two — the cart like
Messrs. Pickford's light conveyances, only of
varnished oak, and poleless; an extremity in
front like a cow's horn, under the driver's foot,
supplying the want of a pole. On the right, in
the centre of a field, is a miniature windmill,
about ten feet high, that may be turned
on a swivel to catch the breeze, and doing
its work bravely. There is a miniature miller,
too, standing on the little gallery, leaning on
his elbows, doing brain-work, perhaps. He
will come some morning and find his miniature
mill levelled; or, perhaps, removed to
the adjoining parish; some fierce storm having
been at work the night before.

Weary of the hard road, the wandering
man will now take this canal that crosses it,
and he follows the canal with strong purpose,
until he meets another canal running into
the first. By this time it is noonday, and the
sun is strong and high in the heavens. He
meets light skiffs, now and again, well filled
with vegetables and market produce; being
drawn through the water swiftly by a rope
over the shoulders of a labouring man or
woman. He meets tawny maidens and whooping
urchins; and, finally, he sees the trees
thickening apace, and something like a village
a-head. A hamlet ,on the banks of a canal:
a lock village, as it were.

Some twenty or thirty cottages are collected
here, smart and bright, with a house of
entertainment in the centre. The road paved
here with red stones, brushed very clean.
A red house here, to lend warmth and
colouring to the view; and, hard by to the
house of entertainment, a range of shedding,
open at each end, clearly for the comfort of
travellers. As he looks and looks, a little
donkey-chaise with two ladies, one of whom
drives, jogs up and turns in under the shedding;
a Dutch ostler comes out with a pail
and refreshes the donkey; the driving female
getting down to stamp and stretch her limbs;
the donkey invigorated, she mounts again
and drives off again through the other end
of the shed.

The wandering man looks in at the open
door of a cottage, and marvels at the brightness
and tidiness. Smooth red tiling for
floor, flowers in the window in bright polished
pots, brass knobs projecting, reflecting the
fire, shining pewter, shining tables, shining
everything; shining housewife, too, who
might have been burnishing her cheeks that
same morning, like one of the knobs.

The wandering man is athirst, and will
have something at the house of entertainment;
so a chair is set for him at the door,
and liquor brought out, with a sort of light
crusty bread that eats much like baby-rusks.
While so refreshing himself, he hears splashing
sounds, and finds that there is a handsome
canal-boat, or treikschuit, coming by; its
yellow timbers having a graceful bend and
shining with varnish. There is a wooden
bridge to be lifted, and so the treikschuit has
to tarry a while, and it enters suddenly into
the soul of the wandering man to try, for
change sake, that mode of travel.

He is aboard in a trice. Down at the
stern, where the man steers, there is room for
some three or four souls to squeeze
themselves in, and the gentleman at the gang-
board proffers an arm lazily, without taking
the pipe from his mouth, to help the stranger
in. Another passenger is there already; so
there is no lack of company.

Most grateful fashion this of travelling per
treikschuit. The wandering man lounges
back Easternwise, and sees the banks and
trees and villages and figures glide by at an
easy pace. No weary waiting at locks for
filling and emptying. No more impediment
than a light bridge spanning the water, the
keeper whereof sees the boat coming from
afar off, and swings it up without an instant's
tarrying. Sometimes a broad sail is spread
and the speed grows apace. Oftentimes of
a cool Sunday or holiday evening, the wandering
man, standing on the bank, has seen float
by these pleasant craft, the little nook at the
stern well filled with a jocund party, gay
parasols and bright ribbons catching the
sun's rays, and city exquisites playing the
cavalier. Nothing special at the prow, but
Pleasure, beyond question, at the helm.
'Twixt Delft and Schiedam, and again 'twixt
this place of strong waters and Rotterdam do
they chiefly abound. Delftians and
Schiedamites are wonderfully addicted to this
barging it on canals. At times, the wandering
man would see a railway-crossing at a dead
level, the bridge seeming to him to lie upon
the water; which would appear to be a certain
obstacle — an impediment irremovable.
But, lo! a bare touch, and the light bridge
flies round easily on a pivot, and the road
is clear. Some ingenious art of balancing
must have attained to perfection here, no
doubt, worthy of study at home. Sometimes
where canal traffic is abundant, and this
frequent pivoting would come to be troublesome,
the bridge is kept poised some few feet
above the water, to let boats go underneath,
and drops down at a touch when a train is at
hand. These little secrets would seem to
save a world of trouble and heaving and
winching, which, after all, would come
ungratefully to our Dutchman.

By-and-by another hamlet draws near,
with a little clump of trees and flying bridge
over again. The flying bridges produce the
hamlets, which sprout up, mushroom-like,
about them. The bridge-keeper, one may