with oaks which fringed the heights, and rowan-trees which hung over the water. The river ran swiftly through a narrow channel; but we soon entered more open country upon approaching the village of Arley: "From underneath the leafy screen, And from the twilight shade, You pass at once into a green,

A green and lightsome glade."

Two hours and a half had it taken us to reach this pretty village, where there is a station on the Severn Valley Line, but we could get no sleeping accommodation; so there was nothing to be done but manfully to knock off the ten miles to Bridgnorth. How wearisome were the last six miles! As I write this, I can remember how my wrists ached going up those fords; for while B. plied the bow-oar, A. and C. took the sculls by turns. I wished for the Castle Hill to appear, as I have before now wished for Poplar Point and the sound of the old Henley cannon. The evening was dark and slight showers now and then fell; the landscapes were often extremely pretty; and at last, passing the village of Quatford on the left bank, as night was coming on, we eased beneath the bridge. Among shouts from a troop of small boys, we inquired for a landing-place; and a certain "Billoc" having been summoned, he directed us to a coal-barge moored a little above the bridge, into which we disembarked-for the shallows stretch almost across the river -and, amid a scene of great excitement, housed our boat for the night in a cowhouse in the squalid part of the town which is situated under the high rock on which the castle and High Street are built.

We were rather glad of a day's rest after our hard thirty miles upstream; so, while we waited for a fresh pair of oars from Oxford, we strolled off to Apley Terrace, one of the finest walks in England.

It is a steep ridge about two miles in length, and one side is thickly wooded. Below are the park and house

of Apley, bordered by the Severn, which winds away among the woods and fields towards the round-topped Wrekin. Three miles away, but nearly opposite, is the old town of Bridgnorth, with its ruined piece of castle-all that was left by the Parliamentary army of the object of many sieges and fights-stretching out in one sheet of square fields, village steeples, and cosy farms, till the eye catches the far-off smoke of Wolverhampton and the Black Country. The distance from Bridgnorth to Shrewsbury is twenty-seven miles, and at 8 A.M. we started after our day's rest. The river is very rapid, and fords have to be ascended nearly every quarter of a mile. Between them the water lies in large pools smooth and deep, which were once filled with salmon.

We passed beneath the Hermitage Hill on the left bank-where there may be seen a large sandstone cave, in which tradition says lived a Saxon prince, the brother of King Athelstan, and in the reign of Edward III. was still a hermitage past meadows bright with autumn flowers. At last, when we had been rowing for three hours, and had gone only six miles, we came to a long and very rapid ford, down which the water dashed and splashed like a mountain-burn into a beautiful trout-pool. Halfway up we got, and halfway up we remained, and it became clear that for five minutes at least we had not progressed an inch.

Another five minutes, and a bush which had before been opposite stroke's stretcher, was now opposite his rowlock; so it was evident that we should in time find ourselves in the pool below. C. steered in towards the shallows, and B. jumped out, and stood holding on to the bows up to his knees in the water; next C. appeared over the side with the line, and prepared to tow, and A. was pushed out into the stream again. But it was useless-the current carried our craft in every direction but the right one, so there was nothing to be done but to haul on to the shallows again. At this crisis

an empty coal-barge appeared, and the "governor," as the horse-boy termed him, having offered to tow us up, the line was given to the old bargee, B. joined A. in the boat, and C. shoved them off again.

This time the current turned our poor old craft broadside on; the horse and barge began to pull. B. worked away with the boathook to get her straight, A. was endeavouring to make the line act, while C., with the current doing its best to lift him off his legs, frantically pushed at the stern. But to no purpose; she heeled over, and began to fill. A. began to look for his knife to cut the line, when a considerable effort got her straight, and so we hauled her up. A quarter of a mile farther we reached Coalport on the left bank, a small town of furnaces and chimneys, blacks, coal-dust, and grimy barges; and agreeing that the time was too short to go higher up the Severn, we determined to make this our turning-point.

We could not have got higher than the village of Cressage that night, and should not, in the then low state of the water, have reached Shrewsbury before the following evening; and at Ironbridge, a larger Coalport (where, by-the-bye, the first iron bridge in England was erected), there was a worse rapid than we had hitherto seen. True the river runs through the picturesque Coalbrookdale, with its pretty scenery varied by the busy ironworks, and past the ruins of Buildwas Abbey, a building in the Romanesque style; and at the foot of the Wrekin lie the ruins of Uriconium, which the guidebooks are pleased to call the British Pompeii, and where yet remain mosaic-floors, solid masses of masonry, walls, portions of columns, and broken capitals.

Turning therefore at Coalport, we had no difficulty in reaching Worcester the same evening, and with a favourable tide we finished our trip on the Severn at Gloucester, where we arrived late on the afternoon of the day following. In a less dry summer this ascent

of the Severn would certainly be easier. The best way of undertaking a boating tour on this fine stream would be to start at Shrewsbury, or even higher, and then descend; though of course there are considerable expenses in carrying a boat across the country by rail, which such a course would necessitate. At Stourport the Severn is joined by the Stafford and Worcester Canal, by which it is connected with that network of canals through which access may be had to almost any part of the midland and north-western counties. must now end this account of the Severn-a river which the rower, the angler, the antiquary, and the painter will alike visit with pleasure.-E.S.R., in the Field.

I

CHAPTER XLIII.

UNDERGROUND.

MANY persons have witnessed a large number of the various industries which are carried on above-ground, and the life their workers lead; but comparatively few are aware of the great works which are being achieved underground, and the kind of existence passed by the toilers there. Thus, many have sat by the side of the cheerful blazing fire, and been warmed with its glowing heat, yet have never thought about the wonderful efforts which must be maintained to secure these fireside comforts. We propose, therefore, to conduct our readers on an underground journey, and to show them a little of the strange life there; and we hope that when they return, they will gratefully remember the men who work for them night and day, and will think more highly of their own hearths and homes.

It matters little in what direction we go-whether to the coal-districts of Derbyshire or Yorkshire, or to Lancashire or Durham; for though there is a slight difference in the coal, and in the way in which it is worked, as well

as in the character of the workers, the general features are the same in each district. We start then on our journey, and arrive at the mouth of a great pit whence fumes of smoke are issuing, which we find is the repeatshaft of the pit, constructed to secure its proper ventilation. A little farther on is the downcast shaft, over which is the winding-engine and apparatus for drawing up the tubs of coal, and taking the men down to their work.

We step into the cage, and on the signal being given, find that we are descending a pit encased like a deep well. The sensation is anything but pleasing; and after being lowered some 300 yards, we come to a standstill, and on looking up see the daylight above as a small speck of light. We step out into the great darkness, and, as soon as our eyes become accustomed to it, we see half-naked black-looking men holding lights, ready to guide us into the labyrinths beyond. The scene is awfully impressive to a stranger, who might imagine that he had descended into Tartarus, and was looking on the inhabitants of that dark abyss. It is, however, but a momentary impression, for a more warm-hearted and friendly race of men than these underground workers does not exist.

The first signs of underground life are to be seen in the stables, where are kept the horses which are employed to draw the little waggons of coal up the main gallery to the cage, from which the engine takes them up the shaft. These horses look as if the perpetual darkness agreed with them, for they are sleek and fat; and the old cat sits and purrs on the hay, as composedly as others do before our kitchen-fire. Following our guide, we are obliged to bend our heads as we wend our way between the rails laid down in the main gallery. Soon there is a rumbling sound like distant thunder, and we hurry on till we can find a niche, where we stand close to the wall of coal to allow the train of waggons to