were excellent judges of horseflesh — might be seen at an early- 

 hour, one after another, " going farming," riding out of the 

 difi'erent ways leading to the fens. 



Fen society was peculiar; no large landholders resided there. 

 " The Duke " — wo knew of no other duke — lived at Woburn. 

 Gentry, properly so called, there were none ; hence, clergy- 

 men, as a rule, were the magistrates ; a bad plan, but how 

 could it be avoided ? Gentlemen farmers, owners, or large 

 renters, were the upper class, not over educated certainly, but 

 hearty good fellows, some of them apt to sit a little too long 

 at the market- tabic ; while the lower farmers were, as a rule, 

 lower in all respects. The fen labourers who were employed 

 at drain or dyke work were called " bankers ;" and by drain 

 I do not mean little narrow- ditelies (you would need a leaping- 

 pole to jump tlicni with), but liroad dykes full of dark brown 

 water, not muddy, but dark from the black peaty sides and 

 bottom. In these long, straight drains the pike darted, or 

 slept in the sun. Tlie drains ran along tlic wide drove, while 

 fields to the right and left — little squares of a few acres ex- 

 tent — reached from the drove by bridges across the main 

 drain, and each field surrounded by its ditches full of sluggish 

 water. Windmills and watermills abounded ; you might 

 stand and count tliirty or more within sight. There were no 

 enclosures a quarter of a century ago ; here and there a row 

 of ancient willows, grey stemmed and pollarded each season, 

 might be seen banging their queer, cut-short heads over the 

 drains. A farmhouse, too, was not nnfrequently marked out 

 to the eye by a row of poplars in front of its garden ; but 

 elsewhere nothing to catch the eye save the beautiful cliurch 

 spires which abounded, for the fens are rich in churches, or 

 perhaps there rose before the eye the massive forms of Ely or 

 Peterborough Cathedrals, which you appeared to see from 

 the lowest tier of stone to the battlements, for there was 

 nothing to hide them. 



From the fen " bankers " came originally the now uni- 

 versal English navvies. These bankers had for generations 

 been accustomed to cut out with their narrow spades, and 

 cast up the blue clay, and so were ready and fit for railway 

 making. They were a rough, drinking set, many were 

 followed everywhere by their brindled bull-dogs, the courage 

 of which dogs they were accustomed to test in puppyhood, 

 by fastening them through the ear by a dinner fork to the 

 edge of tlie ale-house table ; the pup that squeaked, or 

 showed anything but his close-shut teeth, was doomed to be 

 hung. The bankers fifty years ago were great customers to 

 the doctor at spring and fall in an odd way. They fancied 

 that being bled, or, as they called it, being "blooded" 

 periodically did them a world of good. So they came in 



crowds to the surgery on a Sunday morning, their leisure 

 time, and stood in rows, leaning against tlie wall, watching 

 the operation, and waiting each his turn ; or they were out- 

 side chatting in groups. The most were lengthy tall fellows ; 

 their dress peculiar — red cotton neckcloths, wondrous smart 

 waistcoats, short slops, mere round jackets, corderoy 

 breeches, and rough home-knitted blue or speckled stockings ; 

 but on a Sunday morning was one mark especially — their 

 high water-tight laced boots were unlaced, and very slovenly 

 they looked. Here and there a dandy among them would 

 have Sunday boots of a thinner texture, but of similar make, 

 and these brightly polished and neatly laced. Short pipes 

 were unusual, they better liked the long jiipe of tlie public- 

 house kitchen. They loitered about tlie streets all Sunday 

 moniing, bands in pockets, or stood at the idle corner, 

 watching the people going to and returning from church. In 

 the afternoon the older and steadier men were wont to attend 

 church, sitting in a deep gallery by themselves, " the poor 

 man's gallery," it was called ; and a fine sight it was to see 

 them rise to sing the evening hymn. The women sat In an 

 opposite gallery by themselves. 



This strange population is now strangely altered. The 

 bankers are n.avvies, and have emigrated — the fens are 

 drained. That was a remarkable Sunday morning TOhen, 

 owng to Telford's geuius in deepening the outfall, the 

 sluggish waters in the drains began to run. The people and 

 parson, too, it is said, ran out of Tliorney Church — properly 

 Thorncy Abbey — to see the wonderful sight of the waters on 

 the move though many miles from the sea. Trains now 

 cross and rccniss the tens ; fcnmcn travel as much as any 

 men ; the lands are in ]iarts inclosed ; the last-left great 

 inland piece of water " Whittlesey Mere," that long defied 

 the engineer's skill, is now dry, and like other fen land, its 

 bottom sends to London market good corn, or grazes fine 

 bidlocks. No more decoys on the mere to entrap the wild 

 duck, the flights of starlings are diminished, and reeds, once 

 the universal roofing of the houses, cannot now be procured. 

 Yet let me revive for a few moments the past, and speak of 

 a winter's day on the ico. 



Chap. U, — FnozEN Haud. 



"Have you heard, HariT," said the doctor to his son of 

 twelve years old, " that tliere are to bo races on the mere 

 to-d.ay ? Lord I'itzwilliam (tlie doctor liked my Lord, and 

 his Lordship's hounds, too) has given ten guineas to be run 

 for, and the Milton ladies will be there on their sledges. 

 The great Cowbit runner came to town last night, and there 



