either of its own attractions or of the scenery by which it is surrounded, some pretty walks may be found in the neighbourhood, especially towards Highworth, while in the opposite direction is Windmill-hill, noted all round those parts for the beauty of its prospects. The river for the next half-dozen miles flows at first through flat meads, and then along a rather narrow valley with gentle uplands on each side, that somewhat diversify the way; but the landscape is not anywhere remarkable, and the stream is shallow and sluggish. Eisey chapel stands on some rising ground on the left, about a mile and a half below Cricklade; a little farther on the right is Water Eaton, and soon after Castle Eaton, where the hills terminate near what is known as 66 the Butts"'-so called no doubt from its having been the spot where the butts were set up for the practice of archery, when the law directed that every Englishman should have his bow and arrows, and that butts should be erected in every township.

Beyond Castle Eaton the scenery is for some distance sufficiently unpicturesque. On the right it is low, and only relieved by the sallows that skirt the river and the cattle that graze in the marshes; while on the left the only objects are a long straight drain, and the high embankment of the canal, that here runs nearly parallel to the river. The village of Kempsford has nothing to detain the rambler ; but Inglesham, with its little rustic chapel and neglected churchyard, and the quiet beauty of the neighbourhood, will tempt him to linger for a few minutes.

But by this time our river has considerably increased in size, having received two rather important affluents; the Cole on the Wiltshire side,

and the Colne on that of Gloucestershire. The Cole is an inconsiderable brook, and passes by no place of consequence. The Colne is longer, larger, and more important. It rises only a few miles from Seven Springs, and passes by Withington, Colne St. Denis, and Colne St. Aldwins, and through Fairford-a course of three-and-twenty miles, before it falls into the Thames. Fairford is about three miles from our river, and is worth visiting for its handsome church and the almost unrivalled glass windows which adorn it. The story of these windows, to which the town owes the church, is somewhat curious. In the reign of Henry VII., John Tame, a wealthy merchant (and a sort of privateer apparently), captured a vessel which was conveying a quantity of painted glass to Rome in order to be placed in a church there. Tame, not liking to part with the glass, and hardly venturing to appropriate to the purpose of gain what had been dedicated to ecclesiastical use, resolved to erect a church of his own as a frame for it; and he accordingly built this at Fairford, where he had large estates. There are twenty-eight of these windows in the church, and they are very remarkable, though they have been greatly mutilated by mischievous and foolish people. They are said to have been painted from the designs of Albert Durer, but that may be doubted.

Lechlade is seen to most advantage as you approach it. The river, which is wide, is spanned by a handsome bridge, beyond which rise the irregular roofs of the houses, crowned by the graceful tower and tall and airy spire of the church, forming altogether a very pleasant picture. The town itself possesses nothing noticeable. Three centuries ago Leland described it as "a praty old village ;" now

it has the appearance of a small market-town of no great antiquity and of little beauty. Some writers, as we have seen, make Lechlade derive its name from the Latin scholars who once dwelt in it; but others give it a different origin. Time was, say they, when the College of Physicians (leeches), instead of, as now, rearing its head in the neighbourhood of the court, was relegated into this obscure municipality. and the town was in consequence called Leechlade-originally Leeches-lake. really owes its name to its position by the mouth of the river Lech, which here falls into the Thames.

It

As high as Lechlade the river is navigable for barges of seventy tons burden; and the navigation is continued through the western counties to the Severn by means of the Thames and Severn Canal, which unites with the Thames at Lechlade, and the Stroudwater Canal near Stroud. This canal, which is thirty miles long, was completed in 1789, previous to which the Thames used to be navigated up to Cricklade by barges of light draught constructed for the purpose. Now the upper course of the river is left to the undisturbed use of the miller and the fisherman.

Thus far our river has led us through enclosed meadows and private grounds. For the remainder of the way-at least nearly to London-there is a public path provided for us alongside the river. The path, however, is not a very smooth nor a very regular one-and he who follows it ought to have a pair of Odcombian shoes to walk in. The pleasantest way to travel down the Thames from Lechlade, unquestionably, is in a boat. Then you can row briskly where there is little to be seen, and rest where there is much; lie at ease and let the fancy play with the varying thoughts that are suggested

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by the moving scenery as you glide idly along with the current; or moor the boat and handle rod or pencil as taste or whim may dictate; or run it ashore to take a stroll over the meadows, or climb a hill, or survey an old church or ruin, or choose some quiet village inn not far from the river wherein to take rest for the night. But this will not do for the rambler.

The rambler will of course take the path.

But as this path is to accompany him—or more properly, as he is to accompany it-or more properly still, as both are to be together all the rest of the journey, it is desirable that he should know what sort of a path it is; and—as I do not intend to take any further notice of it after setting out upon it, but shall go from one side of the river to the other just as if there were no path in the way— why this seems the proper place to give some little information about it. For it would not accord with my plan to mislead the rambler who turns to me for guidance by any want of explicitness. Well, then, it is not, as he may suppose, a narrow winding path, worn out of the soft green grass by the foot of the pensive angler or patient pilgrim, with daisies and celandines and other field-flowers on either side of it, but, on the contrary, it is a broad towing-path for horses, formed of flint-stones and flanked by a ditch at least that is its general character. times the rough flints give place to sand, at others to mud. He must make the best of it.

At

Before starting upon it, however, there is one thing he should provide himself with, and that is-this is entirely between ourselves, he might not think of it without this private hint- -a store of copper coins. And for this reason:-the path is not only hard and flinty, but capricious withal.

Whilst you are treading soberly along it, admiring the beauty of the landscape, it may be, or thinking of your dinner, or your debts, or of anything else that is equally pleasant or pressing-all at once you find yourself at the end of the path, and discover that it recommences on the other side of the river. To continue on the side you now are is impossible, or at least not easy, for there is a brook in front, or perhaps a weir. Now, as you begin to perceive, there is, or ought to be, a ferry here. And there is a ferry-sometimes too a ferryman ; but if not, the miller's man, or the miller's maid, will ferry you over. Now it is against these occurrences (and they happen half a dozen times at least in a day's walk) that you need the pennies. Thames boatmen, from Cricklade to the Nore, are always "short of change." When a pretty demure damsel takes the trouble to push the boat across the river for you, you will of course not care to search for coppers; but when a clumsy clown does it-it is another matter. But this is only a hint (aside) to the rambler- he may please himself about attending to it. I have done my duty as guide, and my conscience is at ease on the subject.

Beyond Lechlade the river is much more pleasant than it has yet been. The banks are low, but they are considerably diversified, and there is a background of hills on each hand. The little village of Buscot, on the Berkshire side, is one of the very prettiest, in its way, all along the Thames. There is in it almost everything you would look for in a genuine English village, and each is excellent of its sort. The little inn has flowers and grapes growing all over the front, and a clean and cheerful aspect that speaks of decent, homely comfortableness inside. The church is a plain, old-fashioned, and