immediately opposite the doorway. This bed,
with close packing, accommodates two men
during their short turns-in for sleep. It rests
upon a large cupboard, while above the heads
of the sleepers, under the arch, is another
cupboard, and yet another over their feet. Even
round the back there are more cupboards,
and their doors are fitted with hooks that hold
caps, brushes, and various small and necessary
articles. The bed and clothes are very
clean, and the painted decorations round the
edge of the arch and on the doors were once
gaudy but are now faded. From the foot of
the steps, running up to the arch, on the
right-hand side of the cabin as you enter, is a
low seat, large enough for two persons, and,
of course, constructed with a lid to form a
box. Opposite this seat, also close to the arch,
is a piece of furniture not unlike a compressed
old-fashioned book-case. The upper part
consists of crowded shelves placed in a gothic-
arched framework which is closed with a door
whose hinges are at the bottom, and which
fastens at the top with a spring. When this
door is closed, it displays upon its surface a
small round looking-glass, in which a boatman
may shave, or comb his hair; and,
when it is opened, it turns down upon its
hinges, standing out, self-supported, at right
angles, and forming the only table of the
cabin. Underneath this table are drawers
running down to the floor. Close against the
doorway of the cabin, comes the stove, a
substantial structure, with a low grate, a
deep blower, a round fender (part of the
stove), and a narrow funnel passing upwards
through the low roof. Against the wall,
near this stove, is a small oil lamp; and over
the cabin seat are more cupboards and
shelves. Swinging from the roof is a water-
can which strikes your head when you stand
upright; and near your feet is a tub, into
which it is almost impossible to prevent
stepping. Hanging upon hooks all round
the cabin, are pieces of rope, a whip, a
scrubbing-brush, and other necessaries.
Underneath the bed-arch, in straps nailed on
the roof over the bed, is an umbrella and a
saw; and on the roof of the other part of
the cabin, near the door, is a single strap,
very small, containing papers. Every inch of
space is carefully economised. Everything is
scrupulously neat and clean, and wherever a
piece of metal is visible, that metal is sure to
shine. The Stourport is rather faded in its
decorations, and is not a gay specimen of the
fly-barge in all its glory of cabin paint and
varnish; but still enough remains to show
what it was in its younger days, and what it
will be again when it gets a week in dock
for repairs, at Birmingham. The boatman
lavishes all his taste: all his rude, uncultivated
love for the fine arts, upon the external
and internal ornaments of his floating home.
His chosen colours are red, yellow, and
blue: all so bright that, when newly laid on
and appearing under the rays of a mid-day
sun, they are too much for the unprotected
eye of the unaccustomed stranger. The two
sides of the cabin, seen from the bank, and
the towing-path, present a couple of
landscapes, in which there is a lake, a castle, a
sailing-boat, and a range of mountains,
painted after the style of the great teaboard
school of art. If the Stourport cannot
match many of its companions in the freshness
of its cabin decorations, it can eclipse
every other barge upon the canal in the
brilliancy of a new two-gallon water-can,
shipped from a bank-side painter's yard, at
an early period of the journey. It displayed
no fewer than six dazzling and fanciful
composition landscapes, several gaudy wreaths of
flowers, and the name of its proud proprietor,
Thomas Randle, running round the centre
upon a back-ground of blinding yellow.

Small as the Stourport cabin is for four
full-grown boatmen (leaving out its two
present visitors), cabins just as small, and
furnished in most respects in the same manner,
are made to accommodate large families that
spring up amongst the river population.

The Grand Junction Canal Company do
not allow any of their barges to be turned
into what are called family-boats; but
amongst the small proprietors there is no
such restriction; while the slow-boats, or
boats that only travel during the day, resting
at night, because towed without a change of
horses, belong, in most cases, to the men who
conduct them, and who, of course, are free to
act as they think proper. The way this freedom
is exercised is shown by the pictures of
family-barges, and their internal economy,
which pass us at every turn. There is the
boatman, and his wife, a stout, sunburnt
woman; and children, varying in number
from two to ten, and in ages from three
weeks to twelve years. The youngest of
these helpless little ones, dirty, ragged, and
stunted in growth, are confined in the close
recesses of the cabin (the tarpaulin-covered
part of the boat is inaccessible to children),
stuck round the bed, like images upon a
shelf; sitting upon the cabin-seat; standing
in pans and tubs; rolling helplessly upon the
floor, within a few inches of a fierce fire, and
a steaming kettle; leaning over the edge of
the boat in the little passage between the
cabin-doorway and the tiller-platform, with
their bodies nearly in the water; lying upon
the poop, with no barrier to protect them
from being shaken into the canal; fretful for
want of room, air, and amusement; always
beneath the feet of the mother, and being
cuffed and scolded for that which they cannot
avoid; sickly, even under their sunburnt
skins; waiting wearily for the time when
their little limbs will be strong enough to
trot along the towing-path; or dropping
suddenly over the gaudy sides of the boat,
quietly into the open, hungry arms of death.
When these helpless creatures reach five or
six years of age, they are entrusted with a