THE OLD CANAL 



[ERE once, in days long vanished, was 

 busy trafficking of little barges, and small 

 vessels, laden with corn and coal, passed 

 slowly through the turns and twists and 

 fair windings of this North Devon valley. But the 

 ancient waterway has served its purpose, and man 

 needs it no more. For the most part the old canal 

 is now drained dry, but here and there a riparian 

 owner has preserved the former conditions. In such 

 places time quickly charms the deserted waters, and 

 the wind brings seeds of life, while a message passes 

 magically along from bud to bird, from fishes to the 

 black-eyed furry tenants of the banks that daily 

 transit of boat and man is done for ever, and the 

 winding depths henceforth signed and sealed to 

 Nature. 



A notable picture she has planned through the 

 years. I see the canal winding from me a riband 

 of many colours, whose shining surface is painted 

 by earth and air and water. Here tawny it lies, 

 with strange scums and microscopic growths wakened 

 by hot June sunlight ; here underweeds darken 



90 



