THE RIVER 



After I have gone under the arch, and am clear 

 of all obstructions, I lay the sculls aside, and 

 reclining let the boat drift past a ballast punt 

 moored over the shallowest place, and with a rising 

 load of gravel. One man holds the pole steady- 

 ing the scoop, while his mate turns a windlass the 

 chain from which drags it along the bottom filling 

 the bag with pebbles, and finally hauls it to the 

 surface, when the contents are shot out in the punt. 



It is a floating box rather than a boat, square at 

 each end, and built for capacity instead of progress. 

 There are others moored in various places, and all 

 hard at work. The men in this one, scarcely 

 glancing at my idle skiff, go steadily on, dropping 

 the scoop, steadying the pole, turning the crank, and 

 emptying the pebbles with a rattle. 



Where do these pebbles come from ? Like the 

 stream itself there seems a continual supply ; if a 

 bank be scooped away and punted to the shore, 

 presently another bank forms. If a hollow be 

 deepened, by-and-by it fills up ; if a channel be 

 opened, after a while it shallows again. The 

 stony current flows along below, as the liquid 

 current above. Yet in so many centuries the 

 strand has not been cleared of its gravel, nor has 

 it all been washed out from the banks. 



The skiff drifts again, at first slowly, till the 

 current takes hold of it and bears it onward. Soon 

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