were all tied one behind
the other with tow ropes, to the number of twenty-five or thirty; and
the line was headed and kept in motion by a steamer of strange
construction. It had neither paddle-wheel nor screw; but by some gear
not rightly comprehensible to the unmechanical mind, it fetched up over
its bow a small bright chain which lay along the bottom of the canal,
and paying it out again over the stern, dragged itself forward, link by
link, with its whole retinue of loaded skows. Until one had found out
the key to the enigma, there was something solemn and uncomfortable in
the progress of one of these trains, as it moved gently along the water
with nothing to mark its advance but an eddy alongside dying away into
the wake.

Of all the creatures of commercial enterprise, a canal barge is by far
the most delightful to consider. It may spread its sails, and then you
see it sailing high above the tree-tops and the windmill, sailing on the
aqueduct, sailing through the green corn-lands: the most picturesque of
things amphibious. Or the horse plods along at a foot-pace, as if there
were no such thing as business in the world; and the man dreaming at the
tiller sees the same spire on the horizon all day long. It is a mystery
how things ever get to their destination at this rate; and to see the
barges waiting their turn at a lock affords a fine lesson of how easily
the world may be taken. There should be many contented spirits on board,
for such a life is both to travel and to stay at home.

The chimney smokes for dinner as you go along; the banks of the canal
slowly unroll their scenery to contemplative eyes; the barge floats by
great forests and through great cities with their public buildings and
their lamps at night; and for the barge, in his floating home,
"travelling abed," it is merely as if he were listening to another man's
story or turning the leaves of a picture-book in which he had no
concern. He may take his afternoon walk in some foreign country on the
banks of the canal, and then come home to dinner at his own fireside.

There is not enough exercise in such a life for any high measure of
health; but a high measure of health is only necessary for unhealthy
people. The slug of a fellow, who is never ill nor well, has a quiet
time of it in life, and dies all the easier.

I am sure I would rather be a barge than occupy any position under
heaven that required attendance at an office. There are few callings, I
s