The poling keeps us well in touch with these, and the rough bark of the willow-trees is scarred and pitted with the prints of the passing pole-heads. Year by year, the boats go up in a long procession, and each boat as it passes leaves its trace.
The art of the poler is itself a thing of fascination. The men, of whom there two, run down the centre of the boat along a single plank, and the poles of fifteen feet, with pointed iron heads, glide through the fingers with a "slick" grace, till they ring on a rock under the water. Then t h ey bend and quiver, like reeds in upon them, and the they run out to the
the wind, as the polers bear boat leaps forward. At times last rung, and find no bottom ; the boat swings nearer to the bank, and they shoot out to a tree-trunk, find a lodgment there, and the polers strain at their butts. As the boat moves,