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 the effect of subduing sounds doubtless, whilst it held the light, as it were, in suspense, and magnified and mystified the distance. The profound quietude prevailing suggested to us that we were travelling through an enchanted land where all things slept—a land laid under some mighty magic spell.

As we proceeded along our level winding way, with the river for silent company, the outline of the ruined abbey gradually increased in size, and presently we found ourselves in the remote out-of-the-world village of Crowland—or Croyland as some writers have it; but I understand that certain antiquaries who have studied the subject declare that the latter appellation is quite wrong, and as they may be right I accept their dictum and spell it Crowland with my map, though, authorities and map aside, I much prefer Croyland as the quainter title.

The inhabitants appear to spell the name of their village indifferently both ways. One intelligent native, of whom we sought enlightenment, said he did not care "a turn of the weathercock" which way it was spelt, which was not very helpful; but we were grateful for the expression "a turn of the weathercock," as it was fresh to us. He further remarked, apropos of nothing in our conversation, "You might as well try to get feathers from a fish as make a living in Crowland; and the people are so stupid, as the saying goes, 'they'd drown a fish in water.'" Manifestly he was not in love with the place. He did not even think much of the old abbey: "It's very ruinous," was his expression thereof.