st,
and from the looks of genuine admiration expressed upon the countenance of
our landlady, I should judge that our appetites did us full credit.

Afloat once more, we paddled by easy stages past Cassiobury House,
surrounded by a glorious well-wooded park, and then reached King's Langley,
to which an interest attached as having been the birthplace of Edward III.

We found the scenery all along this portion of the canal typical of rural
England, the various inns by the wayside recalling the delightful types
made familiar by the brushes of Dendy Sadler and Yeend King.

We soon found to our cost that the tropical summer weather was responsible
for the presence of numerous wasps, whose attentions were rather too
pressing to be altogether pleasant. While engaged in trying to allay the
burning pains of a bad sting upon Jacky's arm, we were advised by a rustic
on the bank (whose sympathetic grins upset my chum almost as much as the
wasps) to try some clay from the canal-side as a remedy. We were sceptical
at first, but were subsequently astonished at the soothing effects of this
novel panacea for wasp-stings. Here is a wrinkle for any of my readers
who should happen to get stung by the ferocious little pests.

At Boxmoor, where we next arrived, we observed, during a saunter around the
village, a curious stone erected to the memory of a highwayman rejoicing
in the most un-romantic name of Snooks, who its was hanged here at the
beginning of the century for robbing the King's mail.

Paddling on farther, we passed Berkhampstead (a corruption of
Berg-ham-sted, the home on the hill), with its picturesque castle,
much in request by picnic parties, and duly arrived at Bulborn, near Tring,
and during a stroll around the latter town we observed a column erect to
commemorate the completion (in 1832) of the canal along which we were
journeying.

We stopped for the night at Bulborn, a typical bargee's village,
and after our usual morning dip proceeded on our way in good time.

As the day wore on, we got well into Buckinghamshire, and shortly after
came to Stony Stratford, remarkable in history as being the place where
the ill-fated young Edward V was seized by Richard Duke of Gloucester.

A paddle of some length brought us to the Stoke entrance of the well-known
Blisworth Tunnel, which is a mile and a-half in length, and forms the first
of a series along the route.

Seeing one of the curious little tug-boats about to proceed th