Those marked with (*) empty all their waters this way, the rest but
in part.
In a word, all the water of the middle part of England which does
not run into the Thames or the Trent, comes down into these fens.
In these fens are abundance of those admirable pieces of art called
decoys that is to say, places so adapted for the harbour and
shelter of wild fowl, and then furnished with a breed of those they
call decoy ducks, who are taught to allure and entice their kind to
the places they belong to, that it is incredible what quantities of
wild fowl of all sorts, duck, mallard, teal, widgeon, &c., they
take in those decoys every week during the season; it may, indeed,
be guessed at a little by this, that there is a decoy not far from
Ely which pays to the landlord, Sir Thomas Hare, 500 pounds a year
rent, besides the charge of maintaining a great number of servants
for the management; and from which decoy alone, they assured me at
St. Ives (a town on the Ouse, where the fowl they took was always
brought to be sent to London) that they generally sent up three
thousand couple a week.
There are more of these about Peterborough, who send the fowl up
twice a week in waggon-loads at a time, whose waggons before the
late Act of Parliament to regulate carriers I have seen drawn by
ten and twelve horses a-piece, they were laden so heavy.
As these fens appear covered with water, so I observed, too, that
they generally at this latter part of the year appear also covered
with fogs, so that when the downs and higher grounds of the
adjacent country were gilded with the beams of the sun, the Isle of
Ely looked as if wrapped up in blankets, and nothing to be seen but
now and then the lantern or cupola of Ely Minster.
One could hardly see this from the hills and not pity the many
thousands of families that were bound to or confined in those fogs,
and had no other breath to draw than what must be mixed with those
vapours, and that steam which so universally overspreads the
country. But notwithstanding this, the people, especially those
that are used to it, live unconcerned, and as healthy as other
folks, except now and then an ague, which they make light of, and
there are great numbers of very ancient people among them.
I now draw near to Cambridge, to which I fancy I look as if I was
afraid to come, having made so many circumlocutions beforehand; but
I must yet make another digression before I enter the town (for in
my way, and as I came in from Newmarket, about the beginning of
September), I cannot omit, that I came necessarily through
Stourbridge Fair, which was then in its height.
If it is a diversion worthy a book to treat of trifles, such as the
gaiety of Bury Fair, it cannot be very unpleasant, especially to
the trading part of the world, to say something of this fair, which
is not only the greatest in the whole nation, but in the world;
nor, if I may believe those who have seen the mall, is the fair at
Leipzig in Saxony, the mart at Frankfort-on-the-Main, or the fairs
at Nuremberg, or Augsburg, any way to compare to this fair at
Stourbridge.
It is kept in a large corn-field, near Casterton, extending from
the side of the river Cam, towards the road, for about half a mile
square.
If the husbandmen who rent the land, do not get their corn off
before a certain day in August, the fair-keepers may trample it
under foot and spoil it to build their booths, or tents, for all
the fair is kept in tents and booths. On the other hand, to
balance that severity, if the fair-keepers have not done their
business of the fair, and removed and cleared the field by another
certain day in September, the ploughmen may come in again, with
plough and cart, and overthrow all, and trample into the dirt; and
as for the filth, dung, straw, etc. necessarily left by the fair-