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we drove on we observed that a poor cow had somehow managed to slip down the steep bank into the dyke, and there she was swimming up and down it apparently on the outlook for an easy spot to climb out, but her struggles to gain a footing on the slippery earth were alas! in vain; three men followed the unfortunate animal up and down, and at every attempt she made to reach terra firma they commenced prodding her behind with long sticks and shouting violently, by way of encouragement, we presumed; but prods and shouts were unavailing, the final result always being that the cow slipped quietly down into the dyke again and recommenced her swimming. Had we not felt sorry for the poor bewildered creature we should have laughed outright, for there was something very ludicrous about the whole proceeding. The men told us that they had been "two mortal hours a-trying to get the daft beast out, but we bain't no forrader than when we begun. We shall have to go back home and get a rope and tie it round her horns and haul her out." Why they had not done this long before when they found their other method of help was unavailing I could not understand, nor could the men explain. How the amusing episode ended I cannot say, as we felt we could not afford to wait till the rope appeared.

At Bourn we found comfortable quarters at the Angel; this little market town—described by Kingsley as lying "between the forest and the Fen"—though clean and neat, is more interesting historically than picturesquely. Bourn claims to be the birthplace of that Saxon patriot Hereward the Wake,