Ever and anon we
passed through a lock. How strange and thrilling the feeling, to stand
on the deck and see yourself slowly sinking into the great mossy box,
and then to see the great valves of the lock slowly open, disclosing
what seemed a new land and fresh vistas of green landscape! It was like
the opening of the gates of the future (I pleased myself with fancying)
to my triumphant progress. Gate after gate swung back its ponderous
valves: I was Habib advancing from isle to isle of the enchanted sea. I
uttered the word of power, and the huge unwieldy gates of opposition
swung back with sullen and unwilling deference, compelled to respect
the talisman I held. But hark! Hear the sweet notes of the supper-horn
floating through the cool gloom of twilight as the tired reapers trudge
home with their grain-cradles swung over their shoulders. Listen to the
tinkling mule-bells on the tow-path, see the bright crimson tassels of
the bridles, and the gayly-decorated boats, their cabin-roofs adorned
with pots of herbs and flowers.
As we glide down the canal, ever and anon we see some empty returning
boat (called "light boat" in the technical canal phrase) rounding a
curve before us, It comes nearer: the horses walk the same tow-path:
how _are_ the boats to pass without confusion? Ah, the riddle is
solved.
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