Randle calls it in ambitious nautical phrase,
—we seem to have everything within our
reach, and to be in the midst of everything.
The captain stands in the doorway of the
little cabin, with the upper half of his body
visible above the deck, and the lower half
roasting in close contact with the cabin-fire.
He makes tea in a large tin tea-pot standing
on the poop, which holds two quarts; and it
is no trouble for him to stoop down and
bring up the steaming kettle from the cabin
stove. We sit on the edge of the deck, with
our feet dangling over the water; and, while
I am patiently waiting for the brewing of the
refreshing beverage, Cuddy is preparing for
a ferocious attack upon the once great, but
now rapidly diminishing, meat-pie. The
whole crew is assembled upon the deck
and the tiller platform, the horse being left
to tow the boat unled, with his head deeply
buried in a small tin milking-can full of
provender,—a novel kind of nose-bag
specially provided for barge-towing horses, that
they may move and eat, and breathe, at
one and the same time. The tea, a weak
and curiously-flavoured drink, is served out
in basins without saucers, and, above all,
without milk, this luxury being unknown in
the victualling department of an ordinary
fly-boat. It is sweetened with light-coloured
moist sugar, ladled out of a drawer in the
cabin, and is stirred with some of the rudest
spoons ever made. The knives and forks are
worthy of their companions, the spoons, and
they must have come from Sheffield, when
that distinguished town was first struggling
with the earliest rudiments of its staple
manufacture. The knife that Cuddy holds
in his right hand, wherewith to demolish
the pie, is a slice of iron, not unlike a
Dutch razor in shape, and about half the
size of a stage scimitar. It is stuck or
wedged into a dark square wooden handle,
that is indebted for any polish and smoothness
it possesses to half a century's use, and
the friction of Captain Randle's hard and
bronzed hands. The fork has two prongs,
one shorter than the other, and both black
with the action of many years' grease and
rust. The handle is much chipped, and very
discoloured, looking like a very dirty piece of
dark yellow soap. These appearances must
be taken as representing inherent defects in
the cutlery, and not a want of cleanliness on
the part of Captain Randle and his crew.

The boat, considering its limited space, and
its four inhabitants (now swelled to six), is a
model of tidiness; and in the intervals of
sleep, or the pauses of work, the youth
with the straw-coloured hair, is always dusting
everything about with a short hair-broom.
He takes a pride in the cabin department of
the Stourport, as any one can easily see, even
if the father did not constantly draw their
attention to the fact; and if any brass knob
could not have been kept bright; if the full-
sized tea-pot would not have done for a
looking-glass; or, if any one by spilling
oil, or dropping any other filthy fluid, had
soiled the virgin purity of that spotless poop
or deck, the young boatman with the straw-
hair must have knocked somebody down, or
broken his heart.

It was well for us that the deck was kept
clean, for our bread and butter had to rest
upon it, without the usual domestic
conveniences of plates. New as we were to our
situation, we managed pretty well, although
we occasionally suffered from a giddiness
caused by the gliding motion of the boat, and
a strong desire to drop over into the water.
The hundred locks, which were destined to
break our sleep, were also destined to disturb
the even course of our meals. Every time
we reached a gate—sometimes once in fifty
yards—it was necessary to give up all
considerations of eating and drinking, and to
poise the basins of tea carefully in our hands,
to prepare for the inevitable series of bumps
and avoid a total spill. Curious as was the
flavour, and mild as was the stimulus
conveyed by this tea, it was the favourite and
only drink, night and day,—except water,—
not only of our own sturdy boatmen, but of
all other sturdy boatmen, as far as my
observation went. Beer and spirits were little
used, and a pipe being a rare indulgence.
Melancholy pictures of drunken brawls,
improper language, constant fights, danger to
life and property, hordes of licensed ruffians
beyond the pale of law and order, which my
cheerful friends had drawn the moment they
heard of my intention to make an unprotected
barge journey, all proved false before the
experience of a few hours, and shamefully
false before the further experience of a few
days. We were inmates of a new home, and
friends of a new family; whose members were
honest, industrious, simple, and natural—too
independent to stoop to the meanness of
masquerading in adopted habits and manners
with a view of misleading the judgment of
their guests.

As the morning developed, the promise of
a fine day was fulfilled; and, after we passed
the brick-kiln country near Brentford, we
proceeded in a zig-zag direction towards
Uxbridge and Rickmansworth. The further
we went, the more did our long-cherished
notions of the dry, utilitarian character of
canals disappear, to give place to a feeling of
admiration for the picturesque beauty of the
country, and the artificial river, lying and
running unheeded so near the metropolis.
Now we were floating on a low level,
deeply embowered in trees, which, in some
places, nearly closed over our heads; now
we were on a high level, commanding a
view of woods and meadows, stretching away
for miles; now we came to long avenues of
stately trees, the valued heir-looms of ancient
families and the growth of centuries; now
we came to smoothly-shaven lawns, to parks,
aud gardens running down to the water's