I　　like　so　much　in　France　is　the　clear　unflinching　recognition　by　　everybody　of　his　own　luck。　　They　all　know　on　which　side　their　bread　　is　buttered；　and　take　a　pleasure　in　showing　it　to　others；　which　is　　surely　the　better　part　of　religion。　　And　they　scorn　to　make　a　poor　　mouth　over　their　poverty；　which　I　take　to　be　the　better　part　of　　manliness。　　I　have　heard　a　woman　in　quite　a　better　position　at　　home；　with　a　good　bit　of　money　in　hand；　refer　to　her　own　child　with　　a　horrid　whine　as　'a　poor　man's　child。'　　I　would　not　say　such　a　　thing　to　the　Duke　of　Westminster。　　And　the　French　are　full　of　this　　spirit　of　independence。　　Perhaps　it　is　the　result　of　republican　　institutions；　as　they　call　them。　　Much　more　likely　it　is　because　　there　are　so　few　people　really　poor；　that　the　whiners　are　not　　enough　to　keep　each　other　in　countenance。
  The　people　on　the　barge　were　delighted　to　hear　that　I　admired　their　　state。　　They　understood　perfectly　well；　they　told　me；　how　Monsieur　　envied　them。　　Without　doubt　Monsieur　was　rich；　and　in　that　case　he　　might　make　a　canal　boat　as　pretty　as　a　villa　…　JOLI　COMME　UN　　CHATEAU。　　And　with　that　they　invited　me　on　board　their　own　water　　villa。　　They　apologised　for　their　cabin；　they　had　not　been　rich　　enough　to　make　it　as　it　ought　to　be。
  'The　fire　should　have　been　here；　at　this　side。'　explained　the　　husband。　　'Then　one　might　have　a　writing…table　in　the　middle　…　　books　…　and'　（comprehensively）　'all。　　It　would　be　quite　coquettish　　…　CA　SERAIT　TOUT…A…FAIT　COQUET。'　　And　he　looked　about　him　as　though　　the　improvements　were　already　made。　　It　was　plainly　not　the　first　　time　that　he　had　thus　beautified　his　cabin　in　imagination；　and　when　　next　he　makes　a　bit；　I　should　expect　to　see　the　writing…table　in　　the　middle。
  Madame　had　three　birds　in　a　cage。　　They　were　no　great　thing；　she　　explained。　　Fine　birds　were　so　dear。　　They　had　sought　to　get　a　　HOLLANDAIS　last　winter　in　Rouen　（Rouen？　thought　I；　and　is　this　　whole　mansion；　with　its　dogs　and　birds　and　smoking　chimneys；　so　far　　a　traveller　as　that？　and　as　homely　an　object　among　the　cliffs　and　　orchards　of　the　Seine　as　on　the　green　plains　of　Sambre？）　…　they　had　　sought　to　get　a　HOLLANDAIS　last　winter　in　Rouen；　but　these　cost　　fifteen　francs　apiece　…　picture　it　…　fifteen　francs！
  'POUR　UN　TOUT　PETIT　OISEAU　…　For　quite　a　little　bird；'　added　the　　husband。
  As　I　continued　to　admire；　the　apologetics　died　away；　and　the　good　　people　began　to　brag　of　their　barge；　and　their　happy　condition　in　　life；　as　if　they　had　been　Emperor　and　Empress　of　the　Indies。　　It　　was；　in　the　Scots　phrase；　a　good　hearing；　and　put　me　in　good　humour　　with　the　world。　　If　people　knew　what　an　inspiriting　thing　it　is　to　　hear　a　man　boasting；　so　long　as　he　boasts　of　what　he　really　has；　I　　believe　they　would　do　it　more　freely　and　with　a　better　grace。
  They　began　to　ask　about　our　voyage。　　You　should　have　seen　how　they　　sympathised。　　They　seemed　half　ready　to　give　up　their　barge　and　　follow　us。　　But　these　CANALETTI　are　only　gypsies　semi…domesticated。　　　The　semi…domestication　came　out　in　rather　a　pretty　form。　　Suddenly　　Madam's　brow　darkened。　　'CEPENDANT；'　she　began；　and　then　stopped；　　and　then　began　again　by　asking　me　if　I　were　single？
  'Yes；'　said　I。
  'And　your　friend　who　went　by　just　now？'
  He　also　was　unmarried。
  O　then　…　all　was　well。　　She　could　not　have　wives　left　alone　at　　home；　but　since　there　were　no　wives　in　the　question；　we　were　doing　　the　best　we　could。
  'To　see　about　one　in　the　world；'　said　the　husband；　'IL　N'Y　A　QUE　CA　　…　there　is　nothing　else　worth　while。　　A　man；　look　you；　who　sticks　　in　his　own　village　like　a　bear；'　he　went　on；　'　…　very　well；　he　sees　　nothing。　　And　then　death　is　the　end　of　all。　　And　he　has　seen　　nothing。'
  Madame　reminded　her　husband　of　an　Englishman　who　had　come　up　this　　canal　in　a　steamer。
  'Perhaps　Mr。　Moens　in　the　YTENE；'　I　suggested。
  'That's　it；'　assented　the　husband。　　'He　had　his　wife　and　family　　with　him；　and　servants。　　He　came　ashore　at　all　the　locks　and　asked　　the　name　of　the　villages；　whether　from　boatmen　or　lock…keepers；　and　　then　he　wrote；　wrote　them　down。　　Oh；　he　wrote　enormously！　　I　　suppose　it　was　a　wager。'
  A　wager　was　a　common　enough　explanation　for　our　own　exploits；　but　　it　seemed　an　original　reason　for　taking　notes。
  THE　OISE　IN　FLOOD
  BEFORE　nine　next　morning　the　two　canoes　were　installed　on　a　light　　country　cart　at　Etreux：　　and　we　were　soon　following　them　along　the　　side　of　a　pleasant　valley　full　of　hop…gardens　and　poplars。　　　Agreeable　villages　lay　here　and　there　on　the　slope　of　the　hill；　　notably；　Tupigny；　with　the　hop…poles　hanging　their　garlands　in　the　　very　street；　and　the　houses　clustered　with　grapes。　　There　was　a　　faint　enthusiasm　on　our　passage；　weavers　put　their　heads　to　the　　windows；　children　cried　out　in　ecstasy　at　sight　of　the　two　　'boaties'　…　BARGUETTES：　　and　bloused　pedestrians；　who　were　　acquainted　with　our　charioteer；　jested　with　him　on　the　nature　of　　his　freight。
  We　had　a　shower　or　two；　but　light　and　flying。　　The　air　was　clean　　and　sweet　among　all　these　green　fields　and　green　things　growing。　　　There　was　not　a　touch　of　autumn　in　the　weather。　　And　when；　at　　Vadencourt；　we　launched　from　a　little　lawn　opposite　a　mill；　the　sun　　broke　forth　and　set　all　the　leaves　shining　in　the　valley　of　the　　Oise。
  The　river　was　swollen　with　the　long　rains。　　From　Vadencourt　all　the　　way　to　Origny；　it　ran　with　ever…quickening　speed；　taking　fresh　　heart　at　each　mile；　and　racing　as　though　it　already　smelt　the　sea。　　　The　water　was　yellow　and　turbulent；　swung　with　an　angry　eddy　among　　half…submerged　willows；　and　made　an　angry　clatter　along　stony　　shores。　　The　course　kept　turning　and　turning　in　a　narrow　and　well…　timbered　valley。　　Now　the　river　would　approach　the　side；　and　run　　griding　along　the　chalky　base　of　the　hill；　and　show　us　a　few　open　　colza…fields　among　the　trees。　　Now　it　would　skirt　the　garden…walls　　of　houses；　where　we　might　catch　a　glimpse　through　a　doorway；　and　　see　a　priest　pacing　in　the　chequered　sunlight。　　Again；　the　foliage　　closed　so　thickly　in　front；　that　there　seemed　to　be　no　issue；　only　　a　thicket　of　willows；　overtopped　by　elms　and　poplars；　under　which　　the　river　ran　flush　and　fleet；　and　where　a　kingfisher　flew　past　　like　a　piece　of　the　blue　sky。　　On　these　different　manifestations　　the　sun　poured　its　clear　and　catholic　looks。　　The　shadows　lay　as　　solid　on　the　swift　surface　of　the　stream　as　on　the　stable　meadows。　　　The　light　sparkled　golden　in　the　dancing　poplar　leaves；　and　brought　　the　hills　into　communion　with　our　eyes。　　And　all　the　while　the　　river　never　stopped　running　or　took　breath；　and　the　reeds　along　the　　whole　valley　stood　shivering　from　top　to　toe。
  There　should　be　some　myth　（but　if　there　is；　I　know　it　not）　founded　　on　the　shivering　of　the　reeds。　　There　are　not　many　things　in　nature　　more　striking　to　man's　eye。　　It　is　such　an　eloquent　pantomime　of　　terror；　and　to　see　such　a　number　of　terrified　creatures　taking　　sanctuary　in　every　nook　along　the　shore；　is　enough　to　infect　a　　silly　human　with　alarm。　　Perhaps　they　are　only　a…cold；　and　no　　wonder；　standing　waist…deep　in　the　stream。　　Or　perhaps　they　have　　never　got　accustomed　to　the　speed　and　fury　of　the　river's　flux；　or　　the　miracle　of　its　continuous　body。　　Pan　once　played　upon　their　　forefathers；　and　so；　by　the　hands　of　his　river；　he　still　plays　upon　　these　later　generations　down　all　the　valley　of　the　Oise；　and　plays　　the　same　air；　both　sweet　and　shrill；　to　tell　us　of　the　beauty　and　　the　terror　of　the　world。
  The　canoe　was　like　a　leaf　in　the　current。　　It　took　it　up　and　shook　　it；　and　carried　it　masterfully　away；　like　a　Centaur　carrying　off　a　　nymph。　　To　keep　some　command　on　our　direction　required　hard　and　　diligent　plying　of　the　paddle。　　The　river　was　in　such　a　hurry　for　　the　sea！　　Every　drop　of　water　ran　in　a　panic；　like　as　many　people　　in　a　frightened　crowd。　　But　what　crowd　was　ever　so　numerous；　or　so　　single…minded？　　All　the　objects　of　sight　went　by　at　a　dance　　measure；　the　eyesight　raced　with　the　racing　river；　the　exigencies　　of　every　moment　kept　the　pegs　screwed　so　tight；　that　our　being　　quivered　like　a　well…tuned　instrument；　and　the　blood　shook　off　its　　lethargy；　and　trotted　through　all　the　highways　and　byways　of　the　　veins　and　arteries；　and　in　and　out　of　the　heart；　as　if　circulation　　were　but　a　holiday　journey；　and　not　the　daily　moil　of　three…score　　years　and　ten。　　The　reeds　might　nod　their　heads　in　warning；　and　　with　tremulous　gestures　tell　how　the　river　was　as　cruel　as　it　was　　strong　and　cold；　and　how　death　lurked　in　the　eddy　underneath　the　　willows。　　But　the　reeds　had　to　stand　where　they　were；　and　those　who　　stand　still　are　always　timid　advisers。　　As　for　us；　we　could　have　　shouted　aloud。　　If　this　lively　and　beautiful　river　were；　indeed；　a　　thing　of　death's　contrivance；　the　old　ashen　rogue　had　famously　　outwitted　himself　with　us。　　I　was　living　three　to　the　minute。　　I　　was　scoring　points　against　him　every　stroke　of　my　paddle；　every　　turn　of　the　stream。　　I　have　rarely　had　better　profit　of　my　life。
  For　I　think　we　may　look　upon　our　little　private　war　with　death　　somewhat　in　this　light。　　If　a　man　knows　he　will　sooner　or　later　be　　robbed　upon　a　journey；　he　will　have　a　bottle　of　the　best　in　every　　inn；　and　look　upon　all　his　extravagances　as　so　much　gai