from the little town of, on our way to L W. It is a bright morning in winter, and the fresh crisp air braces us for the four-mile trudge and the steep hill that lies before us. We are a cheerful party, some five or six in number, each laden with bag or satchel in which are stored provisions for the day, with books, tracts, &c. Our road lies up hill nearly half the way, then over undulating ground, till we turn in at a gateway and reach a grassy slope, from the top of which we survey the whole scene of the navvies' labour. The valley lies before us, and as we look up it the eye can trace its winding course far away among the hills, whose soft lines meet and mingle at each bend. The moorland stream comes down apace flooded by melting snows from the hill-sides that shut it in. Immediately below us lies the deep slit known as the "puddle trench," which navvy hands are cutting across the valley, and which will contain the foundation and core of the huge bank which is to turn our valley into a reservoir. A few men are at work even to-day, and the stillness of the morning is broken by the groaning and creaking of the steam-pumps by which the trench is kept clear of water. We descend to the level of the valley, and make our way across to the opposite side, and then through the wood which clothes the slope, our path leading up the valley, and in a line parallel to it. Through the wood for nearly a mile, and then we come to a smaller valley branching off from the main one and sloping upwards from it. Here stands our village—here are the dwellings of our navvies and the scene of our work. The first place to which we go, and to which I will introduce the reader, is the school. It is a good-sized brick building, containing a spacious school-room and a
