wright, a canal from the Bridgewater pits to Manchester came to be constructed, to the vast astonishment, perhaps, of her Grace of Argyll; and certainly of a large section of the public, they having spent much print in pamphlets, and much breath in Parliament, in declaring the project impossible. On 17th July 1761 the first boat carrying coal from Worsley entered Manchester. "And what were her palmy days?" Well, of course, she was a smart turn-out in her palmy days, you understand. He did used to bring her out of Warrington with his passengers at six in the morning, sharp as a train; change his horse in Lymm, just gone eight; be here by nine, and change his horse again; and take on his passengers as had took their It is extraordinary how much tickets at that public over the for granted people take the road there-you see it's still canals, their buildings, and called 'The Old Packet House,' their shipping, while with their and then away for Mantalk of the "good old days "chester, where he'd get by they will dwell lovingly on the eleven o'clock. Then he'd have old stage-coach and on old a bite of dinner, and back he'd coaching inns. Yet the greater come at two o'clock, get out part of the canal system is years the horse he'd left in the mornolder than coaching inns or ing, and be off-Lymm five stage-coaches. Moreover, the o'clock, sharp as a train,-and manners, customs, and hardi- be back in Warrington by hood of our ancestors are still seven o'clock." kept alive by this unobtrusive community of watermen. Over eighteen miles each way," said I. "That's good going, taking the stops into account." "It is good going, I tell you," said he, "and I wish we saw the horses in the stables now like what they had in those days." he shouted across the water to a colleague, who considered a moment and said "Seventeen sixty-summat so fur as it says on the overbridge." Seventeen sixty!" said my friend. "She'd been tied up in Manchester for long enough, and she went down to Runcorn not two months ago, and there they did her up and painted her smart-she looked a picture when she came by here the other day. She's to be an inspection boat, like, for the directors now. 1760! There aren't many boats as old as that, I'll bet, and she's made proper old-fashioned, figurehead and windows in the stern, and all just like a Spanish Armada. She's the very same to look at to-day as when Victoria opened the canal on her.1 But if you go over the way now and ask Mr at the warehouse to show you the book, you'll find lots of things in it about all such things as that." and the layer upon layer of grained paint that had been laid on it, gave it a historic air. Indeed, a peculiar atmosphere of seclusion pervaded that snug little room, as if the tranquillity of more leisured times had been preserved to it by its long association with the water. I was duly shown the book. But that work had very little in it relating to the canal. It contained either cuttings from newspapers or long paragraphs in careful handwriting on the most diverse subjects-passages extolling the Conservative Party, anecdotes of my lords spiritual and temporal, and notes on the Royal Family. There were such facts as the number of bones a man has in his body, how to brew beer, how to find the correct day of the month without looking at a calendar, &c. I was soon less interested in the matter I had come to seek than in picturing to myself Mr's predecessor, the old official who had worked with such infinite pride and pains at compiling what he conto the Old Packet House sidered to be the essentials of that had served as a bookingoffice in the brave days of old —this canal carried passengers at a penny a mile before railways were dreamed of. The office still contained the same furniture. The massiveness and height of the desks compared with modern office furniture, I went as he recommended and visited Mr in his office in the warehouse adjacent knowledge. The rain held off, but the weather preserved a glum cheerless face, and kept the sun hidden in a cloudy pavilion tinged with yellow mirk. No definite horizon was visible owing to the dull atmosphere. The poor soaked crops gathered 1 The boat was actually built in 1851 for the use of Queen Victoria, when she came to Manchester to open the Royal Exchange ninety years after the opening of the canal. VOL. CCXVII.-NO. MCCCXIII. P in stooks looked woebegone and draggled, lacking lustre and the rich full blonde of harvest. Endless flat acres of cabbage and blackening potato haulm alternated on my right. Trees, blasted by the fumes of distant chemical works, displayed their dead among their living branches. The whole made up a sombre and uninspiring scene, through which the lifeless water of the canal wound with a fitting sadness. In another three miles I left the tow-path where a bridge carrying a lane connected it with the eastern bank. About two hundred yards from this bridge was a cottage, and in the garden a man was employing himself cutting back some refractory rose-briars. I said to him, "Is it cold here in beading grass, fern, and tree, produced a fragrance so sweet that it dispelled depression. Nor was the sun hidden much longer. He came out as I reached Great Budworth, and with his tardy smile the mists dissolved, and the sky showed a faint china blue that broadened rapidly. From here I dropped into the Weaver basin. This is a strange land of subsidences, for the mineral wealth consists of salt. At Marston I interviewed a kindly disposed management with the hope of being admitted to a rock-salt mine, but as the workings close at three o'clock I was an hour too late. Taking my way still downhill, I descended to a large irregular sheet of water crossed by a causeway almost on a level with it. The road is made of winter? "Yes, and with the bridge cinders, and is heaped up on and all," said he. Would it be warmer without the bridge?" I asked. "It would that"!" said he. "It draws wind," says he. "If there's a cold wind within miles it's sure to draw it." I now took the road for Great Budworth. The country soon wore a pleasanter aspect, being hilly and rich in small beauty, the red sandstone appearing below the fronds of autumntinted fern; here, too, luxuriant hedgerows and little clusters of birch and oak, untarnished by the chemical poison, were frequent. Much steam and mist prevailed, but the air was fresh and pure, and the dew, brightly By the either side almost continuously with more cinders. time it is made up with these more will have to be brought to keep the traveller dryshod, as the road is sinking as fast as it is made. Beyond this lake lies the town of Northwich. It is a clean, brisk little place. Here the contractor is kept continually busy putting the houses straight as they totter this way and that with the general subsidence. So great is the undertaking, and so expert have the workmen become, that whole houses are raised complete, from their foundations upwards, and not a window cracked. Others are bodily thrust forwards or back or sideways at will. There are many buildings in Northwich centuries old. With them it is not such an easy matter to deal, and it sometimes means pulling them completely down and rebuilding. But of more recent years all buildings have been constructed on special frames, so that the process of raising them on hydraulic jacks, in the generally approved manner, can be resorted to and cause no dislocation. Yet, in spite of these triumphs, the town has a peculiarly crooked and uneven look, giving it all the artistic modulation that it takes extreme old age to achieve elsewhere. atmosphere, highly suggestive to the subconscious part of the guest, giving him a sense of complete security and snugness, and inspiring him with a desire to drink good strong tea and eat hot well-buttered balm cakes. It was now twilight. There was not a cloud nor a sign of moisture to be seen anywhere overhead. From cornflower blue the sky merged into a beautiful russet red with hazy smoke rising across it. On high a planet shone tremulously, and below, the lights of the town began to sparkle from the quaintly-tilted buildings, partly florid in the sunset, partly muffled in the dusk. Sweet influence of autumn! Silverbelled vesper of Nature calling man to regard how toil and growth come to fruition, come to the blush of ripeness even when Death is at hand, and the first frost steals a glance at us with his finger to his lips, and all things hush! I suppose it is a matter of pride in Northwich that your house should not be found sinking. This I gathered from the proprietor of a delightful old-fashioned cook-shop, where I had tea off balm cakes and pikelets. He said that I must not think that because his shop was four steps down from the road that it was sunk. Quite Two roads led from Norththe contrary! The reason was wich. Of these I chose the that they were raising the level less important. From a point of the road outside. But one two miles out of the town this of his pretty serving-wenches road goes as straight as if it had already told me ingenuously had been ruled on the map, that the water had been rising where it is marked with ancient in the cellar for years, till now lettering as King Street. It is it was not far off the top step. doubtless of Roman origin. This house was in the antique There was no moon, but the style, and no doubt could not stars were bright, and a warm be raised without first being glow still lingered in the west. pulled down, a regrettable fate Light airs from the north still for it, as it had, after showing favoured me. Down this hospitality on hundreds and straight level road I travelled hundreds of market-days, ac- apace on the top gear, my quired somehow a comfortable spokes humming, mind and body invigorated by the speed, the exertion, and the chill air. To flit along in the dark unbeknown, making one's own pace, is an aspect of the enjoyment of solitude the great philosophers never knew. Like fishing, it is a keen and all-absorbing pleasure, inexplicable and incommunicable. Just as I entered Middlewich I saw a night watchman standing behind his brazier fire in charge of a long row of red lamps where the road was under repair. I paused to ask him how he fared with his lamps a fortnight since on the night of the gale. "Well," says he, "you're the first as has ever thought to ask me that. There it was in the papers how somebody had his chimley blowed down, and how somebody else had his roof took off or his trees broke, and one thing and another. But no one never thought of me and me lamps. All them folks was asleep; they didn't have to get out in the middle of the night and put their chimleys back and keep on hanging on their slates as they blowed off. It was me as had the hard work that night, and they never took no thought on that. See me agate all the blessed night going from one lamp to another! And as soon as I'd leave one in its place, it 'ud either blow out or catch fire! See me takin' them one after another into the hut to put right, and off they'd go again! That 'ud a been all right if only a bare cyclist like yourself 'ud 'appen to have come by. But not a blessed thing come the 'ole night long. No sense!" From Middlewich I took the road to Sandbach. On my left the stilly waters of the canal, now keeping company with the road, gleamed. The dark forms of mills or works, whose machinery made little or no noise, loomed up, their many storeys showing light through dusty-paned windows all reflecting on the canal, while much smoke and more steam issued from them. At last I got to Sandbach. Here I intended to stay the night, and took my time reconnoitring a billet. During this excursion I passed the church, and I was not a little surprised, seeing that it was gone half-past eight, to notice that it was all aglow with light and a tremendous volume of music and singing of unqualified fervour was proceeding therefrom. Having been so long alone in the dark and silence, the strangeness and unexpectedness of this devotional demonstration struck me very much. The haloed saints standing in their bright vestments in the windows, with the light and the music glowing through them, seemed to live and touch the heart with a sweet message like the angel choir in the gospel story. I felt drawn to attend the service whatever it might be, and so leaving my bicycle against the wall, I walked up through the dim graveyard and entered the church. In the chancel |