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342 had never known so poor a year as this for canalmen. But, poor as he was, he threw a loaf or something else to every poor tramp we passed on the tow-path.

He was called, and he called himself, "Johnnem." In the night (we slept on his boat, which was tied to the bank) we heard passing hails: "Who are you?" "Johnnem." "Hello, Johnnem; hope you're well!"

A memorable incident occurred while we were on Johnnem's boat. We passed a canal-side inn, where men and mules are housed. The landlord, an old canaller, sat at the door, and hailed us warmly.

"Who did you have over Sunday?" asked Johnnie Curran.

"Oh, we had a good time—a lot of the right sort. We had Barrett, and Patterson, and Alleghany—and a lot more; and then—we had Mike!"

"Mike! Well, then, you did have a good time. Where was he going?"

"Went down to Lambertville, last night."

"Good by!"

"Good luck, Johnnem!"

Then Johnnie told us what a "good fellow" Mike was, and how popular on the canal. We soon had evidence to that effect. A boat, passing,