and discovers, in a retired sheltered situation, the ancient village church, with its square grey tower surmounted by moss-grown turrets, with its venerable Saxon stone cross in the churchyard-where the turf graves rise humbly by twos and threes, and where the old coffinshaped stone stands midway at the entrance-gates, still used, as in former times, by the bearers of a rustic funeral. Appearing thus amid the noblest scenery as the simple altar of the prayers of a simple race, this is a church which speaks of religion in no formal or sectarian tone. Appealing to the heart of every traveller, be his creed what it may, in loving and solemn accents, it sends him on his way again up the mighty cliffs, and through the mist driving cloudlike over them, the better fitted for his journey forward here; the better fitted, it may be, even for that other dread journey of one irrevocable moment-the last he shall ever take-to his abiding-place among the dead!-Wilkie Collins.

CHAPTER XLII.

A ROW UP THE SEVERN.

In the summer of 1868 three individuals-whom we will term A., B., and C.-set out from Tewkesbury about 9 A.M. on a glorious morning; the tower of St. Mary's Abbey Church rapidly sank down behind us, as we went on our way rejoicing in the lively waterwhich is a striking contrast to the almost currentless Avon. The banks indeed were very high and almost hid the surrounding country, and milestone after milestone— which continue, I think, to Stourport-succeeded each other, giving a sort of monotony to the scene, though they are often a great boon; for, as a rule, the ideas of rustics as to distances are of the most varied description. We landed (at 12 noon) a short distance above the town of Upton, a thriving little place, where many salmon are taken by

nets in the season; and having bathed, and performed a somewhat airy toilet, we spent a few hours at a friend's house, from whence there was a fine view of the Malvern Hills. Shortly after 3 P.M. we again set off, and as there was a fresh wind upstream, and the long rest had made us somewhat lazy, we hoisted our saila vast alpaca umbrella, which proved very useful-and under this unique piece of aquatic furniture we sped along, much to the amusement of the bargees whom we occasionally encountered. Soon we sighted the spire of the village church of Kempsey nestling peacefully among the thick elms-a place originally known as Camp's Eye, deriving its name from being the site of an old encampment, though its warlike character has long since gone.

Presently two huge locks-one for large craft, the other for small barges and pleasure-boats-came in sight, telling us that we were near the end of our day's row. These Severn locks are massive structures, filled from the sides, and are in very good working order, with several men employed to look after them. There is no fixed charge for small boats passing through, but it is always best to give a trifle to the lock-keepers, who are a very obliging set of men, greatly superior to the muchworried individuals of the Thames. At 6 P.M. we landed at "the faithful city," as reporters delight to term, Worcester; and having housed our boat for the night, at a barge immediately above the bridge, bag in hand we proceeded to the Star Hotel. Next morning we passed on upstream. There is a clear three miles from the bridge at Worcester to Camp Lock, where the scenery improves ; and for the remainder of its upper part the Severn runs through landscapes, many of which are equal to such perfect gems of river-scenery as the Clieveden Woods and other well-known spots on the Thames. There is not indced so much richness of foliage as can be seen on the banks of the Wye or the Dart; the picturesque grey

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rocks too, which mingle so perfectly with the dark trees of the former stream, as well as the quiet little hamlets, with the salmon nets hung at the water's edge, which are to be seen half-hidden among the woods which droop over the Devonshire river, are wanting. Soon we reached the last lock on the Severn, Lincombe by name,

This is quite an idyllic spot, with its pretty cottage covered with creepers and roses, its bright garden, and the river running below between high wooded banks. Redstones, which we pass just before Stourport, is a large sandstone cliff. In its caves live, not bats and owls, but human beings; all along, the Severn caves form very favourite pigsties and outhouses. At Stourport, a thoroughly dismal town with a good iron bridge, there are basins for the large barges which do not go up higher than this point, to which the river is navigable for craft of many tons. Numbers of these barges are drawn by men instead of horses, and it is almost painful to see a string of men toiling doggedly along, bent nearly double, with their hands upon their knees, while a huge coal-laden barge rolls behind them.

These toilers of the river are paid by distance. Thus from Bewdley to Bridgnorth, some fourteen miles, with a rapid current, and a longish day's journey upstream, the pay is 5s.; down the river, the same sum would be paid for working twice this distance. At Stourport we heard rather appalling accounts of the swiftness of the "fords" on the upper part of the river, and were recommended to buy thirty yards more towline if we ever wished to get up; for a Stourport "four" had barely reached Bridgnorth in a day, while it was even now noon. These "fords" are properly speaking rapids, but both on the Severn and the Wye they are known by this usually inappropriate term; for in many places the stream, instead of being very wide and shallow, pours rapidly through a deep and rocky channel.

Each "ford" too has a distinct name, but it would

require a superhuman memory, and considerable acquaintance with provincial patois, to reproduce in print the rustic appellation which has been bestowed on every rough piece of water between Bewdley and Coalport. A mile or two above Stourport we landed for our somewhat rough luncheon. On the right bank was Dyre or Bewdley Forest, extending from Stourport to Bewdley, and on again for several miles along the Valley of the Severn; it does not now cover one half its original area, though it has been more fortunate than the Forest of Morfe, of which, though it formerly covered the east bank of the Severn, few traces now remain. We rose from luncheon quite ready for the approaching fords, and the first, Blackstone Rock, we were not long in reaching. This was comparatively an easy passage, though, not having encountered one before, we naturally looked upon it as rather a difficulty.

The river here was overhung by a great black rock which narrowed the channel, and drove the current beneath the opposite bank, where it swirled rapidly round a projecting corner; but with a little trouble we successfully overcame the first obstacle. To ascend a ford is not easy work, either for steerer or rowers, though the former soon becomes accustomed to his task. The plan is to go straight at the roughest water, where it is always sure to be deep, and then keep the head of the boat straight at the stream, while the rowers work away with a will; no slackening must be allowed, otherwise the labour of minutes will be lost in as many seconds. Many times, before we found ourselves safe at the top, no perceptible way was made for several strokes, except once, and then we were regularly driven back. Passing over another ford, we found ourselves at 2 P.M. beneath the bridge at Bewdley, a town whose wretched and dirty appearance utterly belies its ancient name of Beaulieu. So agreeable a place, indeed, was it in the days of old, that Leland (in the time of Henry VIII.),

in his 'Itinerary,' mentions it as aptly described by the following couplet :

"Fair-seated Bewdley, a delightful town,

Which Wire's tall oaks with shady branches crown."

As it was yet comparatively early, we made up our minds to go on four miles farther to Arley; so we set off, and began to use our towline, after struggling up two more fords and just before approaching a third, not a mile from the town. This was the hardest we had yet tried; for the towpath was on the right bank, and the deep portion of the river, which was here of considerable width, completely under the left bank, curling in and out most perplexingly. A., being our "great gun," was accordingly left in the boat to steer, while B. and C. turned themselves into beasts of burden for the time being. But the tall thorn-bushes and mountain-ash-trees caused great delay, for, if once we let the boat's head get round, the rapid current twisted her on to the shallows; so we gave up the attempt, and resolved not to use the line again on the upper reaches of the Severn. Fords were still the cry, and at length, after ascending a few small ones, we passed round a sharp curve; and then A. who was still steering, said—"There's a biggish fellow ahead; don't look behind, we shall do it all right;" and in another moment we were in a ford with a direct fall of a couple of feet or more: it was a regular waterfall over a ledge of rock short and sharp.

We hovered for at least a minute on the smooth top of the fall, and then, working with a will, were in a calm pool. The top of such a ford-and this is about the worst we met with-is always the hardest, for below there is a little back-water, though the long less rapid ones are much heavier and more dragging work. Here the scenery was very beautiful; the sides were high and rocky, covered with fern, and wooded