n dreamy, dusky
splendor. We brush the dew from the heavy foliage as we pass along.
Lithe alders and heavy vines trail in the cool flood, and the fresh
evening air is filled with grateful harvest-scents and the perfume of
unseen flowers. And now our pretty painted lamp-board is fixed in its
place in the bow. The bright lamp throws its rich golden splendor
before us. The lamp is hid from us by the board which holds it. We
stand behind in the dark, and watch the overhanging sprays of foliage
making strange, grotesque shadows that move fantastically and sport and
clutch and writhe like wanton fiends, while the solid banks of foliage
themselves, reflected in the water below, look, one fancies, like
hanging gardens in the weird world to which the water is but a window,
and far, far down upon whose dusky floor the flowers are golden stars.

The canal over which I am now conducting my readers is one of the
oldest in the country. For many miles it is cut out of the solid rock,
following the windings of the river and clinging close to the contours
of the hills. The particolored rocks jut out in great square blocks,
which, in summer, are usually tufted with grass or flowers. There is an
indescribable air of coziness and safety about the amphibious life one
leads on such a canal. You can here snap your fingers at the terrors of
the cruel water. Here the mocking waves cannot "curl their monstrous
heads" as on the sea, when with blind fury they dash against the
helpless ship their ponderous and shapeless forms, while sailors and
passengers alike are every moment expecting the final stroke that shall
sink them beneath the waves. On the canal you cannot be drowned, on the
canal you cannot be wrecked. The shore is so delightfully near! You
exult in the friendly companionship of the rocky wall that towers above
you, and in the assuring presence of the flowers and shrubs that cling
there or reach out to you their thin elvish hands. You feel that here
untamed Nature (that great wolf) cannot get her claws upon you. Upon
this thread of water you are soothed by the thought that you are under
the friendly and beneficent protection of man.

About nine or ten o'clock each evening the boats tie up at some lock.
At all of these locks there are refreshment-stands and neat taverns of
which the traveller must avail himself, since there are no
accommodations for visitors on the boats. On the fourth day, wishing to
vary my experience, I boarded anoth