Jerome K. Jerome .....................................................................................................................................1

THERE were four of us George, and William Samuel Harris, and myself, and Montmorency. We were

sitting in my room, smoking, and talking about how bad we were bad from a medical point of view I mean,

We were all feeling seedy, and we were getting quite nervous about it. Harris said he felt such extraordinary

fits of giddiness come over him at times, that he hardly knew what he was doing; and then George said that

HE had fits of giddiness too, and hardly knew what HE was doing. With me, it was my liver that was out of

order. I knew it was my liver that was out of order, because I had just been reading a patent liverpill

circular, in which were detailed the various symptoms by which a man could tell when his liver was out of

It is a most extraordinary thing, but I never read a patent medicine advertisement without being impelled to

the conclusion that I am suffering from the particular disease therein dealt with in its most virulent form. The

diagnosis seems in every case to correspond exactly with all the sensations that I have ever felt.

I remember going to the British Museum one day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I

had a touch hay fever, I fancy it was. I got down the book, and read all I came to read; and then, in an

unthinking moment, I idly turned the leaves, and began to indolently study diseases, generally. I forget which

was the first distemper I plunged into some fearful, devastating scourge, I know and, before I had glanced

half down the list of "premonitory symptoms," it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it.

I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of despair, I again turned over the pages. I

came to typhoid fever read the symptoms discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for

months without knowing it wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus's Dance found, as I

expected, that I had that too, began to get interested in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and

so started alphabetically read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening for it, and that the acute stage would

commence in about another fortnight. Bright's disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form,

and, so far as that was concerned, I might live for years. Cholera I had, with severe complications; and

diphtheria I seemed to have been born with. I plodded conscientiously through the twentysix letters, and the

I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of slight. Why hadn't I got housemaid's

knee? Why this invidious reservation? After a while, however, less grasping feelings prevailed. I reflected

that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and I grew less selfish, and determined to do

without housemaid's knee. Gout, in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without my

being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with from boyhood. There were no more

diseases after zymosis, so I concluded there was nothing else the matter with me.

I sat and pondered. I thought what an interesting case I must be from a medical point of view, what an

acquisition I should be to a class! Students would have no need to "walk the hospitals," if they had me. I was

a hospital in myself. All they need do would be to walk round me, and, after that, take their diploma.

Then I wondered how long I had to live. I tried to examine myself. I felt my pulse. I could not at first feel any

pulse at all. Then, all of a sudden, it seemed to start off. I pulled out my watch and timed it. I made it a

hundred and fortyseven to the minute. I tried to feel my heart. I could not feel my heart. It had stopped

beating. I have since been induced to come to the opinion that it must have been there all the time, and must

have been beating, but I cannot account for it. I patted myself all over my front, from what I call my waist up

to my head, and I went a bit round each side, and a little way up the back. But I could not feel or hear

anything. I tried to look at my tongue. I stuck it out as far as ever it would go, and I shut one eye, and tried to

examine it with the other. I could only see the tip, and the only thing that I could gain from that was to feel

I had walked into that readingroom a happy, healthy man. I crawled out a decrepit wreck.

I went to my medical man. He is an old chum of mine, and feels my pulse, and looks at my tongue, and talks

about the weather, all for nothing, when I fancy I'm ill; so I thought I would do him a good turn by going to

him now. "What a doctor wants," I said, "is practice. He shall have me. He will get more practice out of me

than out of seventeen hundred of your ordinary, commonplace patients, with only one or two diseases each."

"I will not take up your time, dear boy, with telling you what is the matter with me. Life is brief, and you

might pass away before I had finished. But I will tell you what is NOT the matter with me. I have not got

housemaid's knee. Why I have not got housemaid's knee, I cannot tell you; but the fact remains that I have not

Then he opened me and looked down me, and clutched hold of my wrist, and then he hit me over the chest

when I wasn't expecting it a cowardly thing to do, I call it and immediately afterwards butted me with the

side of his head. After that, he sat down and wrote out a prescription, and folded it up and gave it me, and I

I did not open it. I took it to the nearest chemist's, and handed it in. The man read it, and then handed it back.

"I am a chemist. If I was a cooperative stores and family hotel combined, I might be able to oblige you.

"1 lb. beefsteak, with 1 pt. bitter beer every 6 hours. 1 tenmile walk every morning. 1 bed at 11 sharp every

I followed the directions, with the happy result speaking for myself that my life was preserved, and is still

In the present instance, going back to the liverpill circular, I had the symptoms, beyond all mistake, the

What I suffer in that way no tongue can tell. From my earliest infancy I have been a martyr to it. As a boy,

the disease hardly ever left me for a day. They did not know, then, that it was my liver. Medical science was

in a far less advanced state than now, and they used to put it down to laziness.

"Why, you skulking little devil, you," they would say, "get up and do something for your living, can't you?"

And they didn't give me pills; they gave me clumps on the side of the head. And, strange as it may appear,

those clumps on the head often cured me for the time being. I have known one clump on the head have

more effect upon my liver, and make me feel more anxious to go straight away then and there, and do what

was wanted to be done, without further loss of time, than a whole box of pills does now.

You know, it often is so those simple, oldfashioned remedies are sometimes more efficacious than all the

We sat there for halfanhour, describing to each other our maladies. I explained to George and William

Harris how I felt when I got up in the morning, and William Harris told us how he felt when he went to bed;

and George stood on the hearthrug, and gave us a clever and powerful piece of acting, illustrative of how he

George FANCIES he is ill; but there's never anything really the matter with him, you know.

At this point, Mrs. Poppets knocked at the door to know if we were ready for supper. We smiled sadly at one

another, and said we supposed we had better try to swallow a bit. Harris said a little something in one's

stomach often kept the disease in check; and Mrs. Poppets brought the tray in, and we drew up to the table,

I must have been very weak at the time; because I know, after the first halfhour or so, I seemed to take no

interest whatever in my food an unusual thing for me and I didn't want any cheese.

This duty done, we refilled our glasses, lit our pipes, and resumed the discussion upon our state of health.

What it was that was actually the matter with us, we none of us could be sure of; but the unanimous opinion

"Rest and a complete change," said George. "The overstrain upon our brains has produced a general

depression throughout the system. Change of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the

George has a cousin, who is usually described in the chargesheet as a medical student, so that he naturally

I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired and oldworld spot, far from the

madding crowd, and dream away a sunny week among its drowsy lanes some halfforgotten nook, hidden

away by the fairies, out of reach of the noisy world some quaintperched eyrie on the cliffs of Time, from

whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century would sound faroff and faint.

Harris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of place I meant; where everybody went

to bed at eight o'clock, and you couldn't get a REFEREE for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to get

I objected to the sea trip strongly. A sea trip does you good when you are going to have a couple of months of

You start on Monday with the idea implanted in your bosom that you are going to enjoy yourself. You wave

an airy adieu to the boys on shore, light your biggest pipe, and swagger about the deck as if you were Captain

Cook, Sir Francis Drake, and Christopher Columbus all rolled into one. On Tuesday, you wish you hadn't

come. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, you wish you were dead. On Saturday, you are able to swallow

a little beef tea, and to sit up on deck, and answer with a wan, sweet smile when kindhearted people ask you

how you feel now. On Sunday, you begin to walk about again, and take solid food. And on Monday morning,

as, with your bag and umbrella in your hand, you stand by the gunwale, waiting to step ashore, you begin to

I remember my brotherinlaw going for a short sea trip once, for the benefit of his health. He took a return

berth from London to Liverpool; and when he got to Liverpool, the only thing he was anxious about was to

It was offered round the town at a tremendous reduction, so I am told; and was eventually sold for

eighteenpence to a biliouslooking youth who had just been advised by his medical men to go to the

"Seaside!" said my brotherinlaw, pressing the ticket affectionately into his hand; "why, you'll have

enough to last you a lifetime; and as for exercise! why, you'll get more exercise, sitting down on that ship,

He himself my brotherinlaw came back by train. He said the North Western Railway was healthy

Another fellow I knew went for a week's voyage round the coast, and, before they started, the steward came

to him to ask whether he would pay for each meal as he had it, or arrange beforehand for the whole series.

The steward recommended the latter course, as it would come so much cheaper. He said they would do him

for the whole week at two pounds five. He said for breakfast there would be fish, followed by a grill. Lunch

was at one, and consisted of four courses. Dinner at six soup, fish, entree, joint, poultry, salad, sweets,

My friend thought he would close on the twopoundfive job (he is a hearty eater), and did so.

Lunch came just as they were off Sheerness. He didn't feel so hungry as he thought he should, and so

contented himself with a bit of boiled beef, and some strawberries and cream. He pondered a good deal

during the afternoon, and at one time it seemed to him that he had been eating nothing but boiled beef for

weeks, and at other times it seemed that he must have been living on strawberries and cream for years.

Neither the beef nor the strawberries and cream seemed happy, either seemed discontented like.

At six, they came and told him dinner was ready. The announcement aroused no enthusiasm within him, but

he felt that there was some of that twopoundfive to be worked off, and he held on to ropes and things and

went down. A pleasant odour of onions and hot ham, mingled with fried fish and greens, greeted him at the

bottom of the ladder; and then the steward came up with an oily smile, and said:

For the next four days he lived a simple and blameless life on thin captain's biscuits (I mean that the biscuits

were thin, not the captain) and sodawater; but, towards Saturday, he got uppish, and went in for weak tea

and dry toast, and on Monday he was gorging himself on chicken broth. He left the ship on Tuesday, and as it

"There she goes," he said, "there she goes, with two pounds' worth of food on board that belongs to me, and

He said that if they had given him another day he thought he could have put it straight.

So I set my face against the sea trip. Not, as I explained, upon my own account. I was never queer. But I was

afraid for George. George said he should be all right, and would rather like it, but he would advise Harris and

me not to think of it, as he felt sure we should both be ill. Harris said that, to himself, it was always a mystery

how people managed to get sick at sea said he thought people must do it on purpose, from affectation said

Then he told us anecdotes of how he had gone across the Channel when it was so rough that the passengers

had to be tied into their berths, and he and the captain were the only two living souls on board who were not

ill. Sometimes it was he and the second mate who were not ill; but it was generally he and one other man. If

It is a curious fact, but nobody ever is seasick on land. At sea, you come across plenty of people very bad

indeed, whole boatloads of them; but I never met a man yet, on land, who had ever known at all what it was

to be seasick. Where the thousands upon thousands of bad sailors that swarm in every ship hide themselves

If most men were like a fellow I saw on the Yarmouth boat one day, I could account for the seeming enigma

easily enough. It was just off Southend Pier, I recollect, and he was leaning out through one of the portholes

"Hi! come further in," I said, shaking him by the shoulder. "You'll be overboard."

"Oh my! I wish I was," was the only answer I could get; and there I had to leave him.

Three weeks afterwards, I met him in the coffeeroom of a Bath hotel, talking about his voyages, and

"Good sailor!" he replied in answer to a mild young man's envious query; "well, I did feel a little queer

ONCE, I confess. It was off Cape Horn. The vessel was wrecked the next morning."

"Weren't you a little shaky by Southend Pier one day, and wanted to be thrown overboard?"

"Oh, ah yes," he answered, brightening up; "I remember now. I did have a headache that afternoon. It was

the pickles, you know. They were the most disgraceful pickles I ever tasted in a respectable boat. Did you

For myself, I have discovered an excellent preventive against sea sickness, in balancing myself. You stand

in the centre of the deck, and, as the ship heaves and pitches, you move your body about, so as to keep it

always straight. When the front of the ship rises, you lean forward, till the deck almost touches your nose;

and when its back end gets up, you lean backwards. This is all very well for an hour or two; but you can't

He said we should have fresh air, exercise and quiet; the constant change of scene would occupy our minds

(including what there was of Harris's); and the hard work would give us a good appetite, and make us sleep

Harris said he didn't think George ought to do anything that would have a tendency to make him sleepier than

He said he didn't very well understand how George was going to sleep any more than he did now, seeing that

there were only twentyfour hours in each day, summer and winter alike; but thought that if he DID sleep

Harris said, however, that the river would suit him to a "T." I don't know what a "T" is (except a sixpenny

one, which includes breadand butter and cake AD LIB., and is cheap at the price, if you haven't had any

It suited me to a "T" too, and Harris and I both said it was a good idea of George's; and we said it in a tone

that seemed to somehow imply that we were surprised that George should have come out so sensible.

The only one who was not struck with the suggestion was Montmorency. He never did care for the river, did

"It's all very well for you fellows," he says; "you like it, but I don't. There's nothing for me to do. Scenery is

not in my line, and I don't smoke. If I see a rat, you won't stop; and if I go to sleep, you get fooling about with

the boat, and slop me overboard. If you ask me, I call the whole thing bally foolishness."

We arranged to start on the following Saturday from Kingston. Harris and I would go down in the morning,

and take the boat up to Chertsey, and George, who would not be able to get away from the City till the

afternoon (George goes to sleep at a bank from ten to four each day, except Saturdays, when they wake him

George and I were for camping out. We said it would be so wild and free, so patriarchal like.

Slowly the golden memory of the dead sun fades from the hearts of the cold, sad clouds. Silent, like

sorrowing children, the birds have ceased their song, and only the moorhen's plaintive cry and the harsh croak

of the corncrake stirs the awed hush around the couch of waters, where the dying day breathes out her last.

From the dim woods on either bank, Night's ghostly army, the grey shadows, creep out with noiseless tread to

chase away the lingering rear guard of the light, and pass, with noiseless, unseen feet, above the waving

rivergrass, and through the sighing rushes; and Night, upon her sombre throne, folds her black wings above

the darkening world, and, from her phantom palace, lit by the pale stars, reigns in stillness.

Then we run our little boat into some quiet nook, and the tent is pitched, and the frugal supper cooked and

eaten. Then the big pipes are filled and lighted, and the pleasant chat goes round in musical undertone; while,

in the pauses of our talk, the river, playing round the boat, prattles strange old tales and secrets, sings low the

old child's song that it has sung so many thousand years will sing so many thousand years to come, before

its voice grows harsh and old a song that we, who have learnt to love its changing face, who have so often

nestled on its yielding bosom, think, somehow, we understand, though we could not tell you in mere words

And we sit there, by its margin, while the moon, who loves it too, stoops down to kiss it with a sister's kiss,

and throws her silver arms around it clingingly; and we watch it as it flows, ever singing, ever whispering,

out to meet its king, the sea till our voices die away in silence, and the pipes go out till we,

commonplace, everyday young men enough, feel strangely full of thoughts, half sad, half sweet, and do not

care or want to speak till we laugh, and, rising, knock the ashes from our burntout pipes, and say

"Goodnight," and, lulled by the lapping water and the rustling trees, we fall asleep beneath the great, still

stars, and dream that the world is young again young and sweet as she used to be ere the centuries of fret

and care had furrowed her fair face, ere her children's sins and follies had made old her loving heart sweet

as she was in those bygone days when, a newmade mother, she nursed us, her children, upon her own deep

breast ere the wiles of painted civilization had lured us away from her fond arms, and the poisoned sneers

of artificiality had made us ashamed of the simple life we led with her, and the simple, stately home where

You can never rouse Harris. There is no poetry about Harris no wild yearning for the unattainable. Harris

never "weeps, he knows not why." If Harris's eyes fill with tears, you can bet it is because Harris has been

"Hark! do you not hear? Is it but the mermaids singing deep below the waving waters; or sad spirits, chanting

dirges for white corpses, held by seaweed?" Harris would take you by the arm, and say:

"I know what it is, old man; you've got a chill. Now, you come along with me. I know a place round the

corner here, where you can get a drop of the finest Scotch whisky you ever tasted put you right in less than

Harris always does know a place round the corner where you can get something brilliant in the drinking line.

I believe that if you met Harris up in Paradise (supposing such a thing likely), he would immediately greet

"So glad you've come, old fellow; I've found a nice place round the corner here, where you can get some

In the present instance, however, as regarded the camping out, his practical view of the matter came as a very

It is evening. You are wet through, and there is a good two inches of water in the boat, and all the things are

damp. You find a place on the banks that is not quite so puddly as other places you have seen, and you land

It is soaked and heavy, and it flops about, and tumbles down on you, and clings round your head and makes

you mad. The rain is pouring steadily down all the time. It is difficult enough to fix a tent in dry weather: in

wet, the task becomes herculean. Instead of helping you, it seems to you that the other man is simply playing

the fool. Just as you get your side beautifully fixed, he gives it a hoist from his end, and spoils it all.

"I tell you you've got it all wrong!" you roar, wishing that you could get at him; and you give your ropes a lug

"Ah, the bally idiot!" you hear him mutter to himself; and then comes a savage haul, and away goes your

side. You lay down the mallet and start to go round and tell him what you think about the whole business,

and, at the same time, he starts round in the same direction to come and explain his views to you. And you

follow each other round and round, swearing at one another, until the tent tumbles down in a heap, and leaves

you looking at each other across its ruins, when you both indignantly exclaim, in the same breath:

Meanwhile the third man, who has been baling out the boat, and who has spilled the water down his sleeve,

and has been cursing away to himself steadily for the last ten minutes, wants to know what the thundering

At last, somehow or other, it does get up, and you land the things. It is hopeless attempting to make a wood

Rainwater is the chief article of diet at supper. The bread is two thirds rainwater, the beefsteakpie is

exceedingly rich in it, and the jam, and the butter, and the salt, and the coffee have all combined with it to

After supper, you find your tobacco is damp, and you cannot smoke. Luckily you have a bottle of the stuff

that cheers and inebriates, if taken in proper quantity, and this restores to you sufficient interest in life to

There you dream that an elephant has suddenly sat down on your chest, and that the volcano has exploded

and thrown you down to the bottom of the sea the elephant still sleeping peacefully on your bosom. You

wake up and grasp the idea that something terrible really has happened. Your first impression is that the end

of the world has come; and then you think that this cannot be, and that it is thieves and murderers, or else fire,

and this opinion you express in the usual method. No help comes, however, and all you know is that

Somebody else seems in trouble, too. You can hear his faint cries coming from underneath your bed.

Determining, at all events, to sell your life dearly, you struggle frantically, hitting out right and left with arms

and legs, and yelling lustily the while, and at last something gives way, and you find your head in the fresh

air. Two feet off, you dimly observe a halfdressed ruffian, waiting to kill you, and you are preparing for a

Then you both raise up your voices and shout for "Bill!" and the ground beneath you heaves and rocks, and

And Bill struggles out, a muddy, trampled wreck, and in an unnecessarily aggressive mood he being under

In the morning you are all three speechless, owing to having caught severe colds in the night; you also feel

very quarrelsome, and you swear at each other in hoarse whispers during the whole of breakfast time.

We therefore decided that we would sleep out on fine nights; and hotel it, and inn it, and pub. it, like

Montmorency hailed this compromise with much approval. He does not revel in romantic solitude. Give him

something noisy; and if a trifle low, so much the jollier. To look at Montmorency you would imagine that he

was an angel sent upon the earth, for some reason withheld from mankind, in the shape of a small foxterrier.

worldthisisandhowIwishIcoulddosomethingtomakeitbetterand nobler expression about

Montmorency that has been known to bring the tears into the eyes of pious old ladies and gentlemen.

When first he came to live at my expense, I never thought I should be able to get him to stop long. I used to

sit down and look at him, as he sat on the rug and looked up at me, and think: "Oh, that dog will never live.

He will be snatched up to the bright skies in a chariot, that is what will happen to him."

But, when I had paid for about a dozen chickens that he had killed; and had dragged him, growling and

kicking, by the scruff of his neck, out of a hundred and fourteen street fights; and had had a dead cat brought

round for my inspection by an irate female, who called me a murderer; and had been summoned by the man

next door but one for having a ferocious dog at large, that had kept him pinned up in his own toolshed,

afraid to venture his nose outside the door for over two hours on a cold night; and had learned that the

gardener, unknown to myself, had won thirty shillings by backing him to kill rats against time, then I began

To hang about a stable, and collect a gang of the most disreputable dogs to be found in the town, and lead

them out to march round the slums to fight other disreputable dogs, is Montmorency's idea of "life;" and so,

as I before observed, he gave to the suggestion of inns, and pubs., and hotels his most emphatic approbation.

Having thus settled the sleeping arrangements to the satisfaction of all four of us, the only thing left to discuss

was what we should take with us; and this we had begun to argue, when Harris said he'd had enough oratory

for one night, and proposed that we should go out and have a smile, saying that he had found a place, round

George said he felt thirsty (I never knew George when he didn't); and, as I had a presentiment that a little

whisky, warm, with a slice of lemon, would do my complaint good, the debate was, by common assent,

adjourned to the following night; and the assembly put on its hats and went out.

SO, on the following evening, we again assembled, to discuss and arrange our plans. Harris said:

"Now, the first thing to settle is what to take with us. Now, you get a bit of paper and write down, J., and you

get the grocery catalogue, George, and somebody give me a bit of pencil, and then I'll make out a list."

That's Harris all over so ready to take the burden of everything himself, and put it on the backs of other

He always reminds me of my poor Uncle Podger. You never saw such a commotion up and down a house, in

all your life, as when my Uncle Podger undertook to do a job. A picture would have come home from the

frame maker's, and be standing in the diningroom, waiting to be put up; and Aunt Podger would ask what

"Oh, you leave that to ME. Don't you, any of you, worry yourselves about that. I'LL do all that."

And then he would take off his coat, and begin. He would send the girl out for sixpen'orth of nails, and then

one of the boys after her to tell her what size to get; and, from that, he would gradually work down, and start

"Now you go and get me my hammer, Will," he would shout; "and you bring me the rule, Tom; and I shall

want the stepladder, and I had better have a kitchenchair, too; and, Jim! you run round to Mr. Goggles, and

tell him, `Pa's kind regards, and hopes his leg's better; and will he lend him his spiritlevel?' And don't you

go, Maria, because I shall want somebody to hold me the light; and when the girl comes back, she must go

out again for a bit of picturecord; and Tom! where's Tom? Tom, you come here; I shall want you to

And then he would lift up the picture, and drop it, and it would come out of the frame, and he would try to

save the glass, and cut himself; and then he would spring round the room, looking for his handkerchief. He

could not find his handkerchief, because it was in the pocket of the coat he had taken off, and he did not

know where he had put the coat, and all the house had to leave off looking for his tools, and start looking for

"Doesn't anybody in the whole house know where my coat is? I never came across such a set in all my life

upon my word I didn't. Six of you! and you can't find a coat that I put down not five minutes ago! Well, of

"Oh, you can give it up! I've found it myself now. Might just as well ask the cat to find anything as expect

And, when half an hour had been spent in tying up his finger, and a new glass had been got, and the tools, and

the ladder, and the chair, and the candle had been brought, he would have another go, the whole family,

including the girl and the charwoman, standing round in a semicircle, ready to help. Two people would have

to hold the chair, and a third would help him up on it, and hold him there, and a fourth would hand him a nail,

and a fifth would pass him up the hammer, and he would take hold of the nail, and drop it.

And we would all have to go down on our knees and grovel for it, while he would stand on the chair, and

The nail would be found at last, but by that time he would have lost the hammer.

"Where's the hammer? What did I do with the hammer? Great heavens! Seven of you, gaping round there,

We would find the hammer for him, and then he would have lost sight of the mark he had made on the wall,

where the nail was to go in, and each of us had to get up on the chair, beside him, and see if we could find it;

and we would each discover it in a different place, and he would call us all fools, one after another, and tell us

to get down. And he would take the rule, and remeasure, and find that he wanted half thirtyone and

threeeighths inches from the corner, and would try to do it in his head, and go mad.

And we would all try to do it in our heads, and all arrive at different results, and sneer at one another. And in

the general row, the original number would be forgotten, and Uncle Podger would have to measure it again.

He would use a bit of string this time, and at the critical moment, when the old fool was leaning over the

chair at an angle of fortyfive, and trying to reach a point three inches beyond what was possible for him to

reach, the string would slip, and down he would slide on to the piano, a really fine musical effect being

produced by the suddenness with which his head and body struck all the notes at the same time.

And Aunt Maria would say that she would not allow the children to stand round and hear such language.

At last, Uncle Podger would get the spot fixed again, and put the point of the nail on it with his left hand, and

take the hammer in his right hand. And, with the first blow, he would smash his thumb, and drop the hammer,

Aunt Maria would mildly observe that, next time Uncle Podger was going to hammer a nail into the wall, she

hoped he'd let her know in time, so that she could make arrangements to go and spend a week with her

"Oh! you women, you make such a fuss over everything," Uncle Podger would reply, picking himself up.

And then he would have another try, and, at the second blow, the nail would go clean through the plaster, and

half the hammer after it, and Uncle Podger be precipitated against the wall with force nearly sufficient to

Then we had to find the rule and the string again, and a new hole was made; and, about midnight, the picture

would be up very crooked and insecure, the wall for yards round looking as if it had been smoothed down

"There you are," he would say, stepping heavily off the chair on to the charwoman's corns, and surveying the

mess he had made with evident pride. "Why, some people would have had a man in to do a little thing like

Harris will be just that sort of man when he grows up, I know, and I told him so. I said I could not permit him

"No; YOU get the paper, and the pencil, and the catalogue, and George write down, and I'll do the work."

The first list we made out had to be discarded. It was clear that the upper reaches of the Thames would not

allow of the navigation of a boat sufficiently large to take the things we had set down as indispensable; so we

"You know we are on a wrong track altogether. We must not think of the things we could do with, but only of

George comes out really quite sensible at times. You'd be surprised. I call that downright wisdom, not merely

as regards the present case, but with reference to our trip up the river of life, generally. How many people, on

that voyage, load up the boat till it is ever in danger of swamping with a store of foolish things which they

think essential to the pleasure and comfort of the trip, but which are really only useless lumber.

How they pile the poor little craft masthigh with fine clothes and big houses; with useless servants, and a

host of swell friends that do not care twopence for them, and that they do not care three ha'pence for; with

expensive entertainments that nobody enjoys, with formalities and fashions, with pretence and ostentation,

and with oh, heaviest, maddest lumber of all! the dread of what will my neighbour think, with luxuries

that only cloy, with pleasures that bore, with empty show that, like the criminal's iron crown of yore, makes

It is lumber, man all lumber! Throw it overboard. It makes the boat so heavy to pull, you nearly faint at the

oars. It makes it so cumbersome and dangerous to manage, you never know a moment's freedom from

anxiety and care, never gain a moment's rest for dreamy laziness no time to watch the windy shadows

skimming lightly o'er the shallows, or the glittering sunbeams flitting in and out among the ripples, or the

great trees by the margin looking down at their own image, or the woods all green and golden, or the lilies

white and yellow, or the sombre waving rushes, or the sedges, or the orchis, or the blue forgetmenots.

Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need a homely

home and simple pleasures, one or two friends, worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a

cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for

You will find the boat easier to pull then, and it will not be so liable to upset, and it will not matter so much if

it does upset; good, plain merchandise will stand water. You will have time to think as well as to work. Time

to drink in life's sunshine time to listen to the AEolian music that the wind of God draws from the human

"We won't take a tent, suggested George; "we will have a boat with a cover. It is ever so much simpler, and

It seemed a good thought, and we adopted it. I do not know whether you have ever seen the thing I mean.

You fix iron hoops up over the boat, and stretch a huge canvas over them, and fasten it down all round, from

stem to stern, and it converts the boat into a sort of little house, and it is beautifully cosy, though a trifle

stuffy; but there, everything has its drawbacks, as the man said when his motherinlaw died, and they came

George said that in that case we must take a rug each, a lamp, some soap, a brush and comb (between us), a

toothbrush (each), a basin, some tooth powder, some shaving tackle (sounds like a French exercise, doesn't

it?), and a couple of bigtowels for bathing. I notice that people always make gigantic arrangements for

bathing when they are going anywhere near the water, but that they don't bathe much when they are there.

It is the same when you go to the seaside. I always determine when thinking over the matter in London

that I'll get up early every morning, and go and have a dip before breakfast, and I religiously pack up a pair of

drawers and a bath towel. I always get red bathing drawers. I rather fancy myself in red drawers. They suit

my complexion so. But when I get to the sea I don't feel somehow that I want that early morning bathe nearly

On the contrary, I feel more that I want to stop in bed till the last moment, and then come down and have my

breakfast. Once or twice virtue has triumphed, and I have got out at six and halfdressed myself, and have

taken my drawers and towel, and stumbled dismally off. But I haven't enjoyed it. They seem to keep a

specially cutting east wind, waiting for me, when I go to bathe in the early morning; and they pick out all the

threecornered stones, and put them on the top, and they sharpen up the rocks and cover the points over with

a bit of sand so that I can't see them, and they take the sea and put it two miles out, so that I have to huddle

myself up in my arms and hop, shivering, through six inches of water. And when I do get to the sea, it is

One huge wave catches me up and chucks me in a sitting posture, as hard as ever it can, down on to a rock

which has been put there for me. And, before I've said "Oh! Ugh!" and found out what has gone, the wave

comes back and carries me out to midocean. I begin to strike out frantically for the shore, and wonder if I

shall ever see home and friends again, and wish I'd been kinder to my little sister when a boy (when I was a

boy, I mean). Just when I have given up all hope, a wave retires and leaves me sprawling like a starfish on

the sand, and I get up and look back and find that I've been swimming for my life in two feet of water. I hop

In the present instance, we all talked as if we were going to have a long swim every morning.

George said it was so pleasant to wake up in the boat in the fresh morning, and plunge into the limpid river.

Harris said there was nothing like a swim before breakfast to give you an appetite. He said it always gave him

an appetite. George said that if it was going to make Harris eat more than Harris ordinarily ate, then he should

He said there would be quite enough hard work in towing sufficient food for Harris up against stream, as it

I urged upon George, however, how much pleasanter it would be to have Harris clean and fresh about the

boat, even if we did have to take a few more hundredweight of provisions; and he got to see it in my light,

Agreed, finally, that we should take THREE bath towels, so as not to keep each other waiting.

For clothes, George said two suits of flannel would be sufficient, as we could wash them ourselves, in the

river, when they got dirty. We asked him if he had ever tried washing flannels in the river, and he replied:

"No, not exactly himself like; but he knew some fellows who had, and it was easy enough;" and Harris and I

were weak enough to fancy he knew what he was talking about, and that three respectable young men,

without position or influence, and with no experience in washing, could really clean their own shirts and

We were to learn in the days to come, when it was too late, that George was a miserable impostor, who could

evidently have known nothing whatever about the matter. If you had seen these clothes after but, as the

George impressed upon us to take a change of underthings and plenty of socks, in case we got upset and

wanted a change; also plenty of handkerchiefs, as they would do to wipe things, and a pair of leather boots as

"Begin with breakfast." (George is so practical.) "Now for breakfast we shall want a fryingpan" (Harris

said it was indigestible; but we merely urged him not to be an ass, and George went on) "a teapot and a

We had taken up an oilstove once, but "never again." It had been like living in an oilshop that week. It

oozed. I never saw such a thing as paraffine oil is to ooze. We kept it in the nose of the boat, and, from there,

it oozed down to the rudder, impregnating the whole boat and everything in it on its way, and it oozed over

the river, and saturated the scenery and spoilt the atmosphere. Sometimes a westerly oily wind blew, and at

other times an easterly oily wind, and sometimes it blew a northerly oily wind, and maybe a southerly oily

wind; but whether it came from the Arctic snows, or was raised in the waste of the desert sands, it came alike

And that oil oozed up and ruined the sunset; and as for the moonbeams, they positively reeked of paraffine.

We tried to get away from it at Marlow. We left the boat by the bridge, and took a walk through the town to

escape it, but it followed us. The whole town was full of oil. We passed through the churchyard, and it

seemed as if the people had been buried in oil. The High Street stunk of oil; we wondered how people could

live in it. And we walked miles upon miles out Birmingham way; but it was no use, the country was steeped

At the end of that trip we met together at midnight in a lonely field, under a blasted oak, and took an awful

oath (we had been swearing for a whole week about the thing in an ordinary, middleclass way, but this was

a swell affair) an awful oath never to take paraffine oil with us in a boat againexcept, of course, in case of

Therefore, in the present instance, we confined ourselves to methylated spirit. Even that is bad enough. You

get methylated pie and methylated cake. But methylated spirit is more wholesome when taken into the system

For other breakfast things, George suggested eggs and bacon, which were easy to cook, cold meat, tea, bread

and butter, and jam. For lunch, he said, we could have biscuits, cold meat, bread and butter, and jam but

NO CHEESE. Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself. It wants the whole boat to itself. It goes through the

hamper, and gives a cheesy flavour to everything else there. You can't tell whether you are eating applepie

or German sausage, or strawberries and cream. It all seems cheese. There is too much odour about cheese.

I remember a friend of mine, buying a couple of cheeses at Liverpool. Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and

mellow, and with a two hundred horsepower scent about them that might have been warranted to carry three

miles, and knock a man over at two hundred yards. I was in Liverpool at the time, and my friend said that if I

didn't mind he would get me to take them back with me to London, as he should not be coming up for a day

I called for the cheeses, and took them away in a cab. It was a ramshackle affair, dragged along by a

knockkneed, brokenwinded somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of enthusiasm, during

conversation, referred to as a horse. I put the cheeses on the top, and we started off at a shamble that would

have done credit to the swiftest steamroller ever built, and all went merry as a funeral bell, until we turned

the corner. There, the wind carried a whiff from the cheeses full on to our steed. It woke him up, and, with a

snort of terror, he dashed off at three miles an hour. The wind still blew in his direction, and before we

reached the end of the street he was laying himself out at the rate of nearly four miles an hour, leaving the

It took two porters as well as the driver to hold him in at the station; and I do not think they would have done

it, even then, had not one of the men had the presence of mind to put a handkerchief over his nose, and to

I took my ticket, and marched proudly up the platform, with my cheeses, the people falling back respectfully

on either side. The train was crowded, and I had to get into a carriage where there were already seven other

people. One crusty old gentleman objected, but I got in, notwithstanding; and, putting my cheeses upon the

And then they both began sniffing, and, at the third sniff, they caught it right on the chest, and rose up

without another word and went out. And then a stout lady got up, and said it was disgraceful that a

respectable married woman should be harried about in this way, and gathered up a bag and eight parcels and

went. The remaining four passengers sat on for a while, until a solemnlooking man in the corner, who, from

his dress and general appearance, seemed to belong to the undertaker class, said it put him in mind of dead

baby; and the other three passengers tried to get out of the door at the same time, and hurt themselves.

I smiled at the black gentleman, and said I thought we were going to have the carriage to ourselves; and he

laughed pleasantly, and said that some people made such a fuss over a little thing. But even he grew strangely

depressed after we had started, and so, when we reached Crewe, I asked him to come and have a drink. He

accepted, and we forced our way into the buffet, where we yelled, and stamped, and waved our umbrellas for

a quarter of an hour; and then a young lady came, and asked us if we wanted anything.

"I'll have halfacrown's worth of brandy, neat, if you please, miss," he responded.

And he went off quietly after he had drunk it and got into another carriage, which I thought mean.

From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded. As we drew up at the different

stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it. "Here y' are, Maria; come along, plenty of

room." "All right, Tom; we'll get in here," they would shout. And they would run along, carrying heavy bags,

and fight round the door to get in first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and stagger back

into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then droop off and

From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend's house. When his wife came into the room she smelt

"It's cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me."

And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of

My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three days later, as he hadn't returned

I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and that nobody was to touch them.

"You think he would be upset," she queried, "if I gave a man a sovereign to take them away and bury them?"

"Madam," I replied, "for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from

Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday. But, in this world, we must

consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the honour of residing is a widow, and, for all I know,

possibly an orphan too. She has a strong, I may say an eloquent, objection to being what she terms `put upon.'

The presence of your husband's cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a `put upon';

"Very well, then," said my friend's wife, rising, "all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to an

hotel until those cheeses are eaten. I decline to live any longer in the same house with them."

She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the charwoman, who, when asked if she could stand the

smell, replied, "What smell?" and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could

detect a faint odour of melons. It was argued from this that little injury could result to the woman from the

The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning everything up, found that the cheeses

had cost him eightandsixpence a pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his

means; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as

the bargemen complained. They said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one dark

night and left them in the parish mortuary. But the coroner discovered them, and made a fearful fuss.

My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a seaside town, and burying them on the beach. It

gained the place quite a reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the air was, and

Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I hold that George was right in declining to take any.

"We shan't want any tea," said George (Harris's face fell at this); "but we'll have a good round, square,

Harris grew more cheerful. George suggested meat and fruit pies, cold meat, tomatoes, fruit, and green stuff.

For drink, we took some wonderful sticky concoction of Harris's, which you mixed with water and called

lemonade, plenty of tea, and a bottle of whisky, in case, as George said, we got upset.

It seemed to me that George harped too much on the gettingupset idea. It seemed to me the wrong spirit to

We didn't take beer or wine. They are a mistake up the river. They make you feel sleepy and heavy. A glass

in the evening when you are doing a mouch round the town and looking at the girls is all right enough; but

don't drink when the sun is blazing down on your head, and you've got hard work to do.

We made a list of the things to be taken, and a pretty lengthy one it was, before we parted that evening. The

next day, which was Friday, we got them all together, and met in the evening to pack. We got a big Gladstone

for the clothes, and a couple of hampers for the victuals and the cooking utensils. We moved the table up

against the window, piled everything in a heap in the middle of the floor, and sat round and looked at it.

I rather pride myself on my packing. Packing is one of those many things that I feel I know more about than

any other person living. (It surprises me myself, sometimes, how many of these subjects there are.) I

impressed the fact upon George and Harris, and told them that they had better leave the whole matter entirely

to me. They fell into the suggestion with a readiness that had something uncanny about it. George put on a

pipe and spread himself over the easychair, and Harris cocked his legs on the table and lit a cigar.

This was hardly what I intended. What I had meant, of course, was, that I should boss the job, and that Harris

and George should potter about under my directions, I pushing them aside every now and then with, "Oh, you

!" "Here, let me do it." "There you are, simple enough!" really teaching them, as you might say. Their

taking it in the way they did irritated me. There is nothing does irritate me more than seeing other people

I lived with a man once who used to make me mad that way. He would loll on the sofa and watch me doing

things by the hour together, following me round the room with his eyes, wherever I went. He said it did him

real good to look on at me, messing about. He said it made him feel that life was not an idle dream to be

gaped and yawned through, but a noble task, full of duty and stern work. He said he often wondered now how

he could have gone on before he met me, never having anybody to look at while they worked.

Now, I'm not like that. I can't sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and

superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my energetic nature.

However, I did not say anything, but started the packing. It seemed a longer job than I had thought it was

going to be; but I got the bag finished at last, and I sat on it and strapped it.

And I looked round, and found I had forgotten them. That's just like Harris. He couldn't have said a word

until I'd got the bag shut and strapped, of course. And George laughed one of those irritating, senseless,

I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going to close it, a horrible idea occurred to

me. Had I packed my tooth brush? I don't know how it is, but I never do know whether I've packed my

My toothbrush is a thing that haunts me when I'm travelling, and makes my life a misery. I dream that I

haven't packed it, and wake up in a cold perspiration, and get out of bed and hunt for it. And, in the morning,

I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of

the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs for it at the last moment and carry it to the

Of course I had to turn every mortal thing out now, and, of course, I could not find it. I rummaged the things

up into much the same state that they must have been before the world was created, and when chaos reigned.

Of course, I found George's and Harris's eighteen times over, but I couldn't find my own. I put the things back

one by one, and held everything up and shook it. Then I found it inside a boot. I repacked once more.

When I had finished, George asked if the soap was in. I said I didn't care a hang whether the soap was in or

whether it wasn't; and I slammed the bag to and strapped it, and found that I had packed my tobaccopouch

in it, and had to reopen it. It got shut up finally at 10.5 p.m., and then there remained the hampers to do.

Harris said that we should be wanting to start in less than twelve hours' time, and thought that he and George

They began in a lighthearted spirit, evidently intending to show me how to do it. I made no comment; I only

waited. When George is hanged, Harris will be the worst packer in this world; and I looked at the piles of

plates and cups, and kettles, and bottles and jars, and pies, and stoves, and cakes, and tomatoes, and felt that

It did. They started with breaking a cup. That was the first thing they did. They did that just to show you what

Then Harris packed the strawberry jam on top of a tomato and squashed it, and they had to pick out the

And then it was George's turn, and he trod on the butter. I didn't say anything, but I came over and sat on the

edge of the table and watched them. It irritated them more than anything I could have said. I felt that. It made

them nervous and excited, and they stepped on things, and put things behind them, and then couldn't find

them when they wanted them; and they packed the pies at the bottom, and put heavy things on top, and

They upset salt over everything, and as for the butter! I never saw two men do more with oneandtwopence

worth of butter in my whole life than they did. After George had got it off his slipper, they tried to put it in

the kettle. It wouldn't go in, and what WAS in wouldn't come out. They did scrape it out at last, and put it

down on a chair, and Harris sat on it, and it stuck to him, and they went looking for it all over the room.

"I'll take my oath I put it down on that chair," said George, staring at the empty seat.

Then they started round the room again looking for it; and then they met again in the centre, and stared at one

Montmorency was in it all, of course. Montmorency's ambition in life, is to get in the way and be sworn at. If

he can squirm in anywhere where he particularly is not wanted, and be a perfect nuisance, and make people

mad, and have things thrown at his head, then he feels his day has not been wasted.

To get somebody to stumble over him, and curse him steadily for an hour, is his highest aim and object; and,

when he has succeeded in accomplishing this, his conceit becomes quite unbearable.

He came and sat down on things, just when they were wanted to be packed; and he laboured under the fixed

belief that, whenever Harris or George reached out their hand for anything, it was his cold, damp nose that

they wanted. He put his leg into the jam, and he worried the teaspoons, and he pretended that the lemons were

rats, and got into the hamper and killed three of them before Harris could land him with the fryingpan.

Harris said I encouraged him. I didn't encourage him. A dog like that don't want any encouragement. It's the

The packing was done at 12.50; and Harris sat on the big hamper, and said he hoped nothing would be found

broken. George said that if anything was broken it was broken, which reflection seemed to comfort him. He

We were all ready for bed. Harris was to sleep with us that night, and we went upstairs.

Harris and I had a bit of a row over it, but at last split the difference, and said halfpast six.

George made no answer, and we found, on going over, that he had been asleep for some time; so we placed

the bath where he could tumble into it on getting out in the morning, and went to bed ourselves.

"Nine o'clock," she replied, through the keyhole. "I thought you was a oversleeping yourselves."

"How could I wake you, when you didn't wake me?" he retorted. "Now we shan't get on the water till after

"Um," I replied, "lucky for you that I do. If I hadn't woke you, you'd have lain there for the whole fortnight."

We snarled at one another in this strain for the next few minutes, when we were interrupted by a defiant snore

There he lay the man who had wanted to know what time he should wake us on his back, with his mouth

I don't know why it should be, I am sure; but the sight of another man asleep in bed when I am up, maddens

me. It seems to me so shocking to see the precious hours of a man's life the priceless moments that will

There was George, throwing away in hideous sloth the inestimable gift of time; his valuable life, every

second of which he would have to account for hereafter, passing away from him, unused. He might have been

up stuffing himself with eggs and bacon, irritating the dog, or flirting with the slavey, instead of sprawling

It was a terrible thought. Harris and I appeared to be struck by it at the same instant. We determined to save

him, and, in this noble resolve, our own dispute was forgotten. We flew across and slung the clothes off him,

and Harris landed him one with a slipper, and I shouted in his ear, and he awoke.

"What!" he shrieked, jumping out of bed into the bath; "Who the thunder put this thing here?"

We finished dressing, and, when it came to the extras, we remembered that we had packed the toothbrushes

and the brush and comb (that toothbrush of mine will be the death of me, I know), and we had to go

downstairs, and fish them out of the bag. And when we had done that George wanted the shaving tackle. We

told him that he would have to go without shaving that morning, as we weren't going to unpack that bag again

It was certainly rather rough on the City, but what cared we for human suffering? As Harris said, in his

We went downstairs to breakfast. Montmorency had invited two other dogs to come and see him off, and they

were whiling away the time by fighting on the doorstep. We calmed them with an umbrella, and sat down to

"The great thing is to make a good breakfast," and he started with a couple of chops, saying that he would

George got hold of the paper, and read us out the boating fatalities, and the weather forecast, which latter

prophesied "rain, cold, wet to fine" (whatever more than usually ghastly thing in weather that may be),

"occasional local thunderstorms, east wind, with general depression over the Midland Counties (London and

I do think that, of all the silly, irritating tomfoolishness by which we are plagued, this "weatherforecast"

fraud is about the most aggravating. It "forecasts" precisely what happened yesterday or a the day before, and

I remember a holiday of mine being completely ruined one late autumn by our paying attention to the weather

report of the local newspaper. "Heavy showers, with thunderstorms, may be expected today," it would say

on Monday, and so we would give up our picnic, and stop indoors all day, waiting for the rain. And people

would pass the house, going off in wagonettes and coaches as jolly and merry as could be, the sun shining

"Ah!" we said, as we stood looking out at them through the window, "won't they come home soaked!"

And we chuckled to think how wet they were going to get, and came back and stirred the fire, and got our

books, and arranged our specimens of seaweed and cockle shells. By twelve o'clock, with the sun pouring

into the room, the heat became quite oppressive, and we wondered when those heavy showers and occasional

"Ah! they'll come in the afternoon, you'll find," we said to each other. "Oh, WON'T those people get wet.

At one o'clock, the landlady would come in to ask if we weren't going out, as it seemed such a lovely day.

"No, no," we replied, with a knowing chuckle, "not we. WE don't mean to get wet no, no."

And when the afternoon was nearly gone, and still there was no sign of rain, we tried to cheer ourselves up

with the idea that it would come down all at once, just as the people had started for home, and were out of the

reach of any shelter, and that they would thus get more drenched than ever. But not a drop ever fell, and it

The next morning we would read that it was going to be a "warm, fine to setfair day; much heat;" and we

would dress ourselves in flimsy things, and go out, and, halfanhour after we had started, it would

commence to rain hard, and a bitterly cold wind would spring up, and both would keep on steadily for the

whole day, and we would come home with colds and rheumatism all over us, and go to bed.

The weather is a thing that is beyond me altogether. I never can understand it. The barometer is useless: it is

There was one hanging up in a hotel at Oxford at which I was staying last spring, and, when I got there, it

was pointing to "set fair." It was simply pouring with rain outside, and had been all day; and I couldn't quite

make matters out. I tapped the barometer, and it jumped up and pointed to "very dry." The Boots stopped as

he was passing, and said he expected it meant tomorrow. I fancied that maybe it was thinking of the week

I tapped it again the next morning, and it went up still higher, and the rain came down faster than ever. On

Wednesday I went and hit it again, and the pointer went round towards "set fair," "very dry," and "much

heat," until it was stopped by the peg, and couldn't go any further. It tried its best, but the instrument was built

so that it couldn't prophesy fine weather any harder than it did without breaking itself. It evidently wanted to

go on, and prognosticate drought, and water famine, and sunstroke, and simooms, and such things, but the

peg prevented it, and it had to be content with pointing to the mere commonplace "very dry."

Meanwhile, the rain came down in a steady torrent, and the lower part of the town was under water, owing to

Boots said it was evident that we were going to have a prolonged spell of grand weather SOME TIME, and

The fine weather never came that summer. I expect that machine must have been referring to the following

Then there are those new style of barometers, the long straight ones. I never can make head or tail of those.

There is one side for 10 a.m. yesterday, and one side for 10 a.m. today; but you can't always get there as

early as ten, you know. It rises or falls for rain and fine, with much or less wind, and one end is "Nly" and the

other "Ely" (what's Ely got to do with it?), and if you tap it, it doesn't tell you anything. And you've got to

correct it to sealevel, and reduce it to Fahrenheit, and even then I don't know the answer.

But who wants to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it comes, without our having the misery of

knowing about it beforehand. The prophet we like is the old man who, on the particularly gloomylooking

morning of some day when we particularly want it to be fine, looks round the horizon with a particularly

"Oh no, sir, I think it will clear up all right. It will break all right enough, sir."

"Ah, he knows", we say, as we wish him goodmorning, and start off; "wonderful how these old fellows can

And we feel an affection for that man which is not at all lessened by the circumstances of its NOT clearing

For the man that prophesies us bad weather, on the contrary, we entertain only bitter and revengeful thoughts.

"Well, no, sir; I'm afraid it's settled down for the day," he replies, shaking his head.

"Stupid old fool!" we mutter, "what's HE know about it?" And, if his portent proves correct, we come back

feeling still more angry against him, and with a vague notion that, somehow or other, he has had something to

It was too bright and sunny on this especial morning for George's blood curdling readings about "Bar.

falling," "atmospheric disturbance, passing in an oblique line over Southern Europe," and "pressure

increasing," to very much upset us: and so, finding that he could not make us wretched, and was only wasting

his time, he sneaked the cigarette that I had carefully rolled up for myself, and went.

Then Harris and I, having finished up the few things left on the table, carted out our luggage on to the

There seemed a good deal of luggage, when we put it all together. There was the Gladstone and the small

handbag, and the two hampers, and a large roll of rugs, and some four or five overcoats and macintoshes,

and a few umbrellas, and then there was a melon by itself in a bag, because it was too bulky to go in

anywhere, and a couple of pounds of grapes in another bag, and a Japanese paper umbrella, and a frying pan,

It did look a lot, and Harris and I began to feel rather ashamed of it, though why we should be, I can't see. No

cab came by, but the street boys did, and got interested in the show, apparently, and stopped.

Biggs's boy was the first to come round. Biggs is our greengrocer, and his chief talent lies in securing the

services of the most abandoned and unprincipled errandboys that civilisation has as yet produced. If

anything more than usually villainous in the boyline crops up in our neighbourhood, we know that it is

Biggs's latest. I was told that, at the time of the Great Coram Street murder, it was promptly concluded by our

street that Biggs's boy (for that period) was at the bottom of it, and had he not been able, in reply to the severe

crossexamination to which he was subjected by No. 19, when he called there for orders the morning after

the crime (assisted by No. 21, who happened to be on the step at the time), to prove a complete ALIBI, it

would have gone hard with him. I didn't know Biggs's boy at that time, but, from what I have seen of them

Biggs's boy, as I have said, came round the corner. He was evidently in a great hurry when he first dawned

upon the vision, but, on catching sight of Harris and me, and Montmorency, and the things, he eased up and

stared. Harris and I frowned at him. This might have wounded a more sensitive nature, but Biggs's boys are

not, as a rule, touchy. He came to a dead stop, a yard from our step, and, leaning up against the railings, and

selecting a straw to chew, fixed us with his eye. He evidently meant to see this thing out.

In another moment, the grocer's boy passed on the opposite side of the street. Biggs's boy hailed him:

The grocer's boy came across, and took up a position on the other side of the step. Then the young gentleman

from the bootshop stopped, and joined Biggs's boy; while the emptycan superintendent from "The Blue

"Ah! you'd want to take a thing or two with YOU," retorted "The Blue Posts," "if you was agoing to cross

"They ain't agoing to cross the Atlantic," struck in Biggs's boy; "they're agoing to find Stanley."

By this time, quite a small crowd had collected, and people were asking each other what was the matter. One

party (the young and giddy portion of the crowd) held that it was a wedding, and pointed out Harris as the

bridegroom; while the elder and more thoughtful among the populace inclined to the idea that it was a

At last, an empty cab turned up (it is a street where, as a rule, and when they are not wanted, empty cabs pass

at the rate of three a minute, and hang about, and get in your way), and packing ourselves and our belongings

into it, and shooting out a couple of Montmorency's friends, who had evidently sworn never to forsake him,

we drove away amidst the cheers of the crowd, Biggs's boy shying a carrot after us for luck.

We got to Waterloo at eleven, and asked where the elevenfive started from. Of course nobody knew;

nobody at Waterloo ever does know where a train is going to start from, or where a train when it does start is

going to, or anything about it. The porter who took our things thought it would go from number two platform,

while another porter, with whom he discussed the question, had heard a rumour that it would go from number

one. The stationmaster, on the other hand, was convinced it would start from the local.

To put an end to the matter, we went upstairs, and asked the traffic superintendent, and he told us that he had

just met a man, who said he had seen it at number three platform. We went to number three platform, but the

authorities there said that they rather thought that train was the Southampton express, or else the Windsor

loop. But they were sure it wasn't the Kingston train, though why they were sure it wasn't they couldn't say.

Then our porter said he thought that must be it on the highlevel platform; said he thought he knew the train.

So we went to the high level platform, and saw the enginedriver, and asked him if he was going to

Kingston. He said he couldn't say for certain of course, but that he rather thought he was. Anyhow, if he

wasn't the 11.5 for Kingston, he said he was pretty confident he was the 9.32 for Virginia Water, or the 10

a.m. express for the Isle of Wight, or somewhere in that direction, and we should all know when we got there.

We slipped halfacrown into his hand, and begged him to be the 11.5 for Kingston.

"Nobody will ever know, on this line," we said, "what you are, or where you're going. You know the way,

"Well, I don't know, gents," replied the noble fellow, "but I suppose SOME train's got to go to Kingston; and

We learnt, afterwards, that the train we had come by was really the Exeter mail, and that they had spent hours

Our boat was waiting for us at Kingston just below bridge, and to it we wended our way, and round it we

"Right it is," we answered; and with Harris at the sculls and I at the tillerlines, and Montmorency, unhappy

and deeply suspicious, in the prow, out we shot on to the waters which, for a fortnight, were to be our home.

IT was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer, as you care to take it, when the dainty sheen of grass

and leaf is blushing to a deeper green; and the year seems like a fair young maid, trembling with strange,

The quaint back streets of Kingston, where they came down to the water's edge, looked quite picturesque in

the flashing sunlight, the glinting river with its drifting barges, the wooded towpath, the trimkept villas on

the other side, Harris, in a red and orange blazer, grunting away at the sculls, the distant glimpses of the grey

old palace of the Tudors, all made a sunny picture, so bright but calm, so full of life, and yet so peaceful, that,

early in the day though it was, I felt myself being dreamily lulled off into a musing fit.

I mused on Kingston, or "Kyningestun," as it was once called in the days when Saxon "kinges" were crowned

there. Great Caesar crossed the river there, and the Roman legions camped upon its sloping uplands. Caesar,

like, in later years, Elizabeth, seems to have stopped everywhere: only he was more respectable than good

She was nuts on publichouses, was England's Virgin Queen. There's scarcely a pub. of any attractions

within ten miles of London that she does not seem to have looked in at, or stopped at, or slept at, some time

or other. I wonder now, supposing Harris, say, turned over a new leaf, and became a great and good man, and

got to be Prime Minister, and died, if they would put up signs over the publichouses that he had patronised:

"Harris had a glass of bitter in this house;" "Harris had two of Scotch cold here in the summer of `88;"

No, there would be too many of them! It would be the houses that he had never entered that would become

famous. "Only house in South London that Harris never had a drink in!" The people would flock to it to see

How poor weakminded King Edwy must have hated Kyningestun! The coronation feast had been too much

for him. Maybe boar's head stuffed with sugarplums did not agree with him (it wouldn't with me, I know),

and he had had enough of sack and mead; so he slipped from the noisy revel to steal a quiet moonlight hour

Perhaps, from the casement, standing handinhand, they were watching the calm moonlight on the river,

while from the distant halls the boisterous revelry floated in broken bursts of faintheard din and tumult.

Then brutal Odo and St. Dunstan force their rude way into the quiet room, and hurl coarse insults at the

sweetfaced Queen, and drag poor Edwy back to the loud clamour of the drunken brawl.

Years later, to the crash of battlemusic, Saxon kings and Saxon revelry were buried side by side, and

Kingston's greatness passed away for a time, to rise once more when Hampton Court became the palace of

the Tudors and the Stuarts, and the royal barges strained at their moorings on the river's bank, and

brightcloaked gallants swaggered down the watersteps to cry: "What Ferry, ho! Gadzooks, gramercy."

Many of the old houses, round about, speak very plainly of those days when Kingston was a royal borough,

and nobles and courtiers lived there, near their King, and the long road to the palace gates was gay all day

with clanking steel and prancing palfreys, and rustling silks and velvets, and fair faces. The large and

spacious houses, with their oriel, latticed windows, their huge fireplaces, and their gabled roofs, breathe of

the days of hose and doublet, of pearlembroidered stomachers, and complicated oaths. They were upraised

in the days "when men knew how to build." The hard red bricks have only grown more firmly set with time,

and their oak stairs do not creak and grunt when you try to go down them quietly.

Speaking of oak staircases reminds me that there is a magnificent carved oak staircase in one of the houses in

Kingston. It is a shop now, in the marketplace, but it was evidently once the mansion of some great

personage. A friend of mine, who lives at Kingston, went in there to buy a hat one day, and, in a thoughtless

The shopman (he knows my friend) was naturally a little staggered at first; but, quickly recovering himself,

and feeling that something ought to be done to encourage this sort of thing, asked our hero if he would like to

see some fine old carved oak. My friend said he would, and the shopman, thereupon, took him through the

shop, and up the staircase of the house. The balusters were a superb piece of workmanship, and the wall all

the way up was oakpanelled, with carving that would have done credit to a palace.

From the stairs, they went into the drawingroom, which was a large, bright room, decorated with a

somewhat startling though cheerful paper of a blue ground. There was nothing, however, remarkable about

the apartment, and my friend wondered why he had been brought there. The proprietor went up to the paper,

"Oak," he explained. "All carved oak, right up to the ceiling, just the same as you saw on the staircase."

"But, great Caesar! man," expostulated my friend; "you don't mean to say you have covered over carved oak

"Yes," was the reply: "it was expensive work. Had to matchboard it all over first, of course. But the room

I can't say I altogether blame the man (which is doubtless a great relief to his mind). From his point of view,

which would be that of the average householder, desiring to take life as lightly as possible, and not that of the

oldcuriosityshop maniac, there is reason on his side. Carved oak is very pleasant to look at, and to have a

little of, but it is no doubt somewhat depressing to live in, for those whose fancy does not lie that way. It

No, what was sad in his case was that he, who didn't care for carved oak, should have his drawingroom

panelled with it, while people who do care for it have to pay enormous prices to get it. It seems to be the rule

of this world. Each person has what he doesn't want, and other people have what he does want.

Married men have wives, and don't seem to want them; and young single fellows cry out that they can't get

them. Poor people who can hardly keep themselves have eight hearty children. Rich old couples, with no one

Then there are girls with lovers. The girls that have lovers never want them. They say they would rather be

without them, that they bother them, and why don't they go and make love to Miss Smith and Miss Brown,

who are plain and elderly, and haven't got any lovers? They themselves don't want lovers. They never mean

There was a boy at our school, we used to call him Sandford and Merton. His real name was Stivvings. He

was the most extraordinary lad I ever came across. I believe he really liked study. He used to get into awful

rows for sitting up in bed and reading Greek; and as for French irregular verbs there was simply no keeping

him away from them. He was full of weird and unnatural notions about being a credit to his parents and an

honour to the school; and he yearned to win prizes, and grow up and be a clever man, and had all those sorts

of weakminded ideas. I never knew such a strange creature, yet harmless, mind you, as the babe unborn.

Well, that boy used to get ill about twice a week, so that he couldn't go to school. There never was such a boy

to get ill as that Sandford and Merton. If there was any known disease going within ten miles of him, he had

it, and had it badly. He would take bronchitis in the dogdays, and have hayfever at Christmas. After a six

weeks' period of drought, he would be stricken down with rheumatic fever; and he would go out in a

They put him under laughinggas one year, poor lad, and drew all his teeth, and gave him a false set, because

he suffered so terribly with toothache; and then it turned to neuralgia and earache. He was never without a

cold, except once for nine weeks while he had scarlet fever; and he always had chilblains. During the great

cholera scare of 1871, our neighbourhood was singularly free from it. There was only one reputed case in the

He had to stop in bed when he was ill, and eat chicken and custards and hothouse grapes; and he would lie

there and sob, because they wouldn't let him do Latin exercises, and took his German grammar away from

And we other boys, who would have sacrificed ten terms of our schoollife for the sake of being ill for a day,

and had no desire whatever to give our parents any excuse for being stuckup about us, couldn't catch so

much as a stiff neck. We fooled about in draughts, and it did us good, and freshened us up; and we took

things to make us sick, and they made us fat, and gave us an appetite. Nothing we could think of seemed to

make us ill until the holidays began. Then, on the breakingup day, we caught colds, and whooping cough,

and all kinds of disorders, which lasted till the term recommenced; when, in spite of everything we could

manoeuvre to the contrary, we would get suddenly well again, and be better than ever.

Such is life; and we are but as grass that is cut down, and put into the oven and baked.

To go back to the carvedoak question, they must have had very fair notions of the artistic and the beautiful,

our greatgreatgrandfathers. Why, all our art treasures of today are only the dugup commonplaces of

three or four hundred years ago. I wonder if there is real intrinsic beauty in the old soupplates, beermugs,

and candlesnuffers that we prize so now, or if it is only the halo of age glowing around them that gives them

their charms in our eyes. The "old blue" that we hang about our walls as ornaments were the common

everyday household utensils of a few centuries ago; and the pink shepherds and the yellow shepherdesses

that we hand round now for all our friends to gush over, and pretend they understand, were the unvalued

mantelornaments that the mother of the eighteenth century would have given the baby to suck when he

Will it be the same in the future? Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day

before? Will rows of our willow pattern dinnerplates be ranged above the chimneypieces of the great in the

years 2000 and odd? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species

unknown), that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer lightheartedness of spirit, be carefully mended, and

That china dog that ornaments the bedroom of my furnished lodgings. It is a white dog. Its eyes blue. Its nose

is a delicate red, with spots. Its head is painfully erect, its expression is amiability carried to verge of

imbecility. I do not admire it myself. Considered as a work of art, I may say it irritates me. Thoughtless

friends jeer at it, and even my landlady herself has no admiration for it, and excuses its presence by the

But in 200 years' time it is more than probable that that dog will be dug up from somewhere or other, minus

its legs, and with its tail broken, and will be sold for old china, and put in a glass cabinet. And people will

pass it round, and admire it. They will be struck by the wonderful depth of the colour on the nose, and

We, in this age, do not see the beauty of that dog. We are too familiar with it. It is like the sunset and the

stars: we are not awed by their loveliness because they are common to our eyes. So it is with that china dog.

In 2288 people will gush over it. The making of such dogs will have become a lost art. Our descendants will

wonder how we did it, and say how clever we were. We shall be referred to lovingly as "those grand old

artists that flourished in the nineteenth century, and produced those china dogs."

The "sampler" that the eldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as "tapestry of the Victorian era," and

be almost priceless. The blueand white mugs of the presentday roadside inn will be hunted up, all

cracked and chipped, and sold for their weight in gold, and rich people will use them for claret cups; and

travellers from Japan will buy up all the "Presents from Ramsgate," and "Souvenirs of Margate," that may

At this point Harris threw away the sculls, got up and left his seat, and sat on his back, and stuck his legs in

the air. Montmorency howled, and turned a somersault, and the top hamper jumped up, and all the things

I was somewhat surprised, but I did not lose my temper. I said, pleasantly enough:

No, on second thoughts, I will not repeat what Harris said. I may have been to blame, I admit it; but nothing

excuses violence of language and coarseness of expression, especially in a man who has been carefully

brought up, as I know Harris has been. I was thinking of other things, and forgot, as any one might easily

understand, that I was steering, and the consequence was that we had got mixed up a good deal with the tow

path. It was difficult to say, for the moment, which was us and which was the Middlesex bank of the river;

Harris, however, said he had done enough for a bit, and proposed that I should take a turn; so, as we were in,

I got out and took the towline, and ran the boat on past Hampton Court. What a dear old wall that is that

runs along by the river there! I never pass it without feeling better for the sight of it. Such a mellow, bright,

sweet old wall; what a charming picture it would make, with the lichen creeping here, and the moss growing

there, a shy young vine peeping over the top at this spot, to see what is going on upon the busy river, and the

sober old ivy clustering a little farther down! There are fifty shades and tints and hues in every ten yards of

that old wall. If I could only draw, and knew how to paint, I could make a lovely sketch of that old wall, I'm

sure. I've often thought I should like to live at Hampton Court. It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and it is such

a dear old place to ramble round in the early morning before many people are about.

But, there, I don't suppose I should really care for it when it came to actual practice. It would be so ghastly

dull and depressing in the evening, when your lamp cast uncanny shadows on the panelled walls, and the

echo of distant feet rang through the cold stone corridors, and now drew nearer, and now died away, and all

We are creatures of the sun, we men and women. We love light and life. That is why we crowd into the towns

and cities, and the country grows more and more deserted every year. In the sunlight in the daytime, when

Nature is alive and busy all around us, we like the open hillsides and the deep woods well enough: but in the

night, when our Mother Earth has gone to sleep, and left us waking, oh! the world seems so lonesome, and

we get frightened, like children in a silent house. Then we sit and sob, and long for the gaslit streets, and the

sound of human voices, and the answering throb of human life. We feel so helpless and so little in the great

stillness, when the dark trees rustle in the nightwind. There are so many ghosts about, and their silent sighs

make us feel so sad. Let us gather together in the great cities, and light huge bonfires of a million gasjets,

Harris asked me if I'd ever been in the maze at Hampton Court. He said he went in once to show somebody

else the way. He had studied it up in a map, and it was so simple that it seemed foolish hardly worth the

twopence charged for admission. Harris said he thought that map must have been got up as a practical joke,

because it wasn't a bit like the real thing, and only misleading. It was a country cousin that Harris took in. He

"We'll just go in here, so that you can say you've been, but it's very simple. It's absurd to call it a maze. You

keep on taking the first turning to the right. We'll just walk round for ten minutes, and then go and get some

They met some people soon after they had got inside, who said they had been there for threequarters of an

hour, and had had about enough of it. Harris told them they could follow him, if they liked; he was just going

in, and then should turn round and come out again. They said it was very kind of him, and fell behind, and

They picked up various other people who wanted to get it over, as they went along, until they had absorbed

all the persons in the maze. People who had given up all hopes of ever getting either in or out, or of ever

seeing their home and friends again, plucked up courage at the sight of Harris and his party, and joined the

procession, blessing him. Harris said he should judge there must have been twenty people, following him, in

all; and one woman with a baby, who had been there all the morning, insisted on taking his arm, for fear of

Harris kept on turning to the right, but it seemed a long way, and his cousin said he supposed it was a very

"Yes, it must be," replied the cousin, "because we've walked a good two miles already."

Harris began to think it rather strange himself, but he held on until, at last, they passed the half of a penny bun

on the ground that Harris's cousin swore he had noticed there seven minutes ago. Harris said: "Oh,

impossible!" but the woman with the baby said, "Not at all," as she herself had taken it from the child, and

thrown it down there, just before she met Harris. She also added that she wished she never had met Harris,

and expressed an opinion that he was an impostor. That made Harris mad, and he produced his map, and

"The map may be all right enough," said one of the party, "if you know whereabouts in it we are now."

Harris didn't know, and suggested that the best thing to do would be to go back to the entrance, and begin

again. For the beginning again part of it there was not much enthusiasm; but with regard to the advisability of

going back to the entrance there was complete unanimity, and so they turned, and trailed after Harris again, in

the opposite direction. About ten minutes more passed, and then they found themselves in the centre.

Harris thought at first of pretending that that was what he had been aiming at; but the crowd looked

Anyhow, they had got something to start from then. They did know where they were, and the map was once

more consulted, and the thing seemed simpler than ever, and off they started for the third time.

After that, they simply couldn't get anywhere else. Whatever way they turned brought them back to the

middle. It became so regular at length, that some of the people stopped there, and waited for the others to take

a walk round, and come back to them. Harris drew out his map again, after a while, but the sight of it only

infuriated the mob, and they told him to go and curl his hair with it. Harris said that he couldn't help feeling

They all got crazy at last, and sang out for the keeper, and the man came and climbed up the ladder outside,

and shouted out directions to them. But all their heads were, by this time, in such a confused whirl that they

were incapable of grasping anything, and so the man told them to stop where they were, and he would come

He was a young keeper, as luck would have it, and new to the business; and when he got in, he couldn't find

them, and he wandered about, trying to get to them, and then HE got lost. They caught sight of him, every

now and then, rushing about the other side of the hedge, and he would see them, and rush to get to them, and

they would wait there for about five minutes, and then he would reappear again in exactly the same spot, and

They had to wait till one of the old keepers came back from his dinner before they got out.

Harris said he thought it was a very fine maze, so far as he was a judge; and we agreed that we would try to

IT was while passing through Moulsey Lock that Harris told me about his maze experience. It took us some

time to pass through, as we were the only boat, and it is a big lock. I don't think I ever remember to have seen

Moulsey Lock, before, with only one boat in it. It is, I suppose, Boulter's not even excepted, the busiest lock

I have stood and watched it, sometimes, when you could not see any water at all, but only a brilliant tangle of

bright blazers, and gay caps, and saucy hats, and manycoloured parasols, and silken rugs, and cloaks, and

streaming ribbons, and dainty whites; when looking down into the lock from the quay, you might fancy it was

a huge box into which flowers of every hue and shade had been thrown pellmell, and lay piled up in a

On a fine Sunday it presents this appearance nearly all day long, while, up the stream, and down the stream,

lie, waiting their turn, outside the gates, long lines of still more boats; and boats are drawing near and passing

away, so that the sunny river, from the Palace up to Hampton Church, is dotted and decked with yellow, and

blue, and orange, and white, and red, and pink. All the inhabitants of Hampton and Moulsey dress themselves

up in boating costume, and come and mouch round the lock with their dogs, and flirt, and smoke, and watch

the boats; and, altogether, what with the caps and jackets of the men, the pretty coloured dresses of the

women, the excited dogs, the moving boats, the white sails, the pleasant landscape, and the sparkling water, it

The river affords a good opportunity for dress. For once in a way, we men are able to show our taste in

colours, and I think we come out very natty, if you ask me. I always like a little red in my things red and

black. You know my hair is a sort of golden brown, rather a pretty shade I've been told, and a dark red

matches it beautifully; and then I always think a lightblue necktie goes so well with it, and a pair of those

Russianleather shoes and a red silk handkerchief round the waist a handkerchief looks so much better than

Harris always keeps to shades or mixtures of orange or yellow, but I don't think he is at all wise in this. His

complexion is too dark for yellows. Yellows don't suit him: there can be no question about it. I want him to

take to blue as a background, with white or cream for relief; but, there! the less taste a person has in dress, the

more obstinate he always seems to be. It is a great pity, because he will never be a success as it is, while there

are one or two colours in which he might not really look so bad, with his hat on.

George has bought some new things for this trip, and I'm rather vexed about them. The blazer is loud. I

should not like George to know that I thought so, but there really is no other word for it. He brought it home

and showed it to us on Thursday evening. We asked him what colour he called it, and he said he didn't know.

He didn't think there was a name for the colour. The man had told him it was an Oriental design. George put

it on, and asked us what we thought of it. Harris said that, as an object to hang over a flowerbed in early

spring to frighten the birds away, he should respect it; but that, considered as an article of dress for any

human being, except a Margate nigger, it made him ill. George got quite huffy; but, as Harris said, if he didn't

What troubles Harris and myself, with regard to it, is that we are afraid it will attract attention to the boat.

Girls, also, don't look half bad in a boat, if prettily dressed. Nothing is more fetching, to my thinking, than a

tasteful boating costume. But a "boating costume," it would be as well if all ladies would understand, ought to

be a costume that can be worn in a boat, and not merely under a glasscase. It utterly spoils an excursion if

you have folk in the boat who are thinking all the time a good deal more of their dress than of the trip. It was

my misfortune once to go for a water picnic with two ladies of this kind. We did have a lively time!

They were both beautifully got up all lace and silky stuff, and flowers, and ribbons, and dainty shoes, and

light gloves. But they were dressed for a photographic studio, not for a river picnic. They were the "boating

costumes" of a French fashionplate. It was ridiculous, fooling about in them anywhere near real earth, air,

The first thing was that they thought the boat was not clean. We dusted all the seats for them, and then

assured them that it was, but they didn't believe us. One of them rubbed the cushion with the forefinger of her

glove, and showed the result to the other, and they both sighed, and sat down, with the air of early Christian

martyrs trying to make themselves comfortable up against the stake. You are liable to occasionally splash a

little when sculling, and it appeared that a drop of water ruined those costumes. The mark never came out,

I was stroke. I did my best. I feathered some two feet high, and I paused at the end of each stroke to let the

blades drip before returning them, and I picked out a smooth bit of water to drop them into again each time.

(Bow said, after a while, that he did not feel himself a sufficiently accomplished oarsman to pull with me, but

that he would sit still, if I would allow him, and study my stroke. He said it interested him.) But,

notwithstanding all this, and try as I would, I could not help an occasional flicker of water from going over

The girls did not complain, but they huddled up close together, and set their lips firm, and every time a drop

touched them, they visibly shrank and shuddered. It was a noble sight to see them suffering thus in silence,

but it unnerved me altogether. I am too sensitive. I got wild and fitful in my rowing, and splashed more and

I gave it up at last; I said I'd row bow. Bow thought the arrangement would be better too, and we changed

places. The ladies gave an involuntary sigh of relief when they saw me go, and quite brightened up for a

moment. Poor girls! they had better have put up with me. The man they had got now was a jolly,

lighthearted, thickheaded sort of a chap, with about as much sensitiveness in him as there might be in a

Newfoundland puppy. You might look daggers at him for an hour and he would not notice it, and it would

not trouble him if he did. He set a good, rollicking, dashing stroke that sent the spray playing all over the boat

like a fountain, and made the whole crowd sit up straight in no time. When he spread more than pint of water

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure;" and offer them his handkerchief to wipe it off with.

"Oh, it's of no consequence," the poor girls would murmur in reply, and covertly draw rugs and coats over

At lunch they had a very bad time of it. People wanted them to sit on the grass, and the grass was dusty; and

the treetrunks, against which they were invited to lean, did not appear to have been brushed for weeks; so

they spread their handkerchiefs on the ground and sat on those, bolt upright. Somebody, in walking about

with a plate of beefsteak pie, tripped up over a root, and sent the pie flying. None of it went over them,

fortunately, but the accident suggested a fresh danger to them, and agitated them; and, whenever anybody

moved about, after that, with anything in his hand that could fall and make a mess, they watched that person

"Now then, you girls," said our friend Bow to them, cheerily, after it was all over, "come along, you've got to

They didn't understand him at first. When they grasped the idea, they said they feared they did not know how

"Oh, I'll soon show you," he cried; "it's rare fun! You lie down on your I mean you lean over the bank, you

The elder sister said that she was afraid that they hadn't got on dresses suited to the work.

And he made them do it, too. He told them that that sort of thing was half the fun of a picnic. They said it was

Now I come to think it over, was that young man as denseheaded as we thought? or was he no,

"How should I know?" replied Harris. "She's a lady that's got a funny tomb, and I want to see it."

I objected. I don't know whether it is that I am built wrong, but I never did seem to hanker after tombstones

myself. I know that the proper thing to do, when you get to a village or town, is to rush off to the churchyard,

and enjoy the graves; but it is a recreation that I always deny myself. I take no interest in creeping round dim

and chilly churches behind wheezy old men, and reading epitaphs. Not even the sight of a bit of cracked brass

I shock respectable sextons by the imperturbability I am able to assume before exciting inscriptions, and by

my lack of enthusiasm for the local family history, while my illconcealed anxiety to get outside wounds

One golden morning of a sunny day, I leant against the low stone wall that guarded a little village church, and

I smoked, and drank in deep, calm gladness from the sweet, restful scene the grey old church with its

clustering ivy and its quaint carved wooden porch, the white lane winding down the hill between tall rows of

elms, the thatchedroof cottages peeping above their trimkept hedges, the silver river in the hollow, the

It was a lovely landscape. It was idyllic, poetical, and it inspired me. I felt good and noble. I felt I didn't want

to be sinful and wicked any more. I would come and live here, and never do any more wrong, and lead a

blameless, beautiful life, and have silver hair when I got old, and all that sort of thing.

In that moment I forgave all my friends and relations for their wickedness and cussedness, and I blessed

them. They did not know that I blessed them. They went their abandoned way all unconscious of what I, far

away in that peaceful village, was doing for them; but I did it, and I wished that I could let them know that I

had done it, because I wanted to make them happy. I was going on thinking away all these grand, tender

thoughts, when my reverie was broken in upon by a shrill piping voice crying out:

"All right, sur, I'm acoming, I'm acoming. It's all right, sur; don't you be in a hurry."

I looked up, and saw an old baldheaded man hobbling across the churchyard towards me, carrying a huge

I motioned him away with silent dignity, but he still advanced, screeching out the while:

"I'm acoming, sur, I'm acoming. I'm a little lame. I ain't as spry as I used to be. This way, sur."

"I've come as soon as I could, sur," he replied. "My missis never see you till just this minute. You follow me,

"No," I answered, "I don't. I want to stop here, leaning up against this gritty old wall. Go away, and don't

disturb me. I am chock full of beautiful and noble thoughts, and I want to stop like it, because it feels nice and

good. Don't you come fooling about, making me mad, chivying away all my better feelings with this silly

tombstone nonsense of yours. Go away, and get somebody to bury you cheap, and I'll pay half the expense."

He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard at me. I seemed human enough on the

"Well then," he said, "you want to see the tombs graves folks been buried, you know coffins!"

"You are an untruther," I replied, getting roused; "I do not want to see tombs not your tombs. Why should

I? We have graves of our own, our family has. Why my uncle Podger has a tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery,

that is the pride of all that countryside; and my grandfather's vault at Bow is capable of accommodating

eight visitors, while my greataunt Susan has a brick grave in Finchley Churchyard, with a headstone with a

coffee pot sort of thing in basrelief upon it, and a sixinch best white stone coping all the way round, that

cost pounds. When I want graves, it is to those places that I go and revel. I do not want other folk's. When

you yourself are buried, I will come and see yours. That is all I can do for you."

He burst into tears. He said that one of the tombs had a bit of stone upon the top of it that had been said by

some to be probably part of the remains of the figure of a man, and that another had some words, carved upon

I would not even see that, so he fired his last shot. He drew near, and whispered hoarsely:

"I've got a couple of skulls down in the crypt," he said; "come and see those. Oh, do come and see the skulls!

You are a young man out for a holiday, and you want to enjoy yourself. Come and see the skulls!"

Harris, however, revels in tombs, and graves, and epitaphs, and monumental inscriptions, and the thought of

not seeing Mrs. Thomas's grave made him crazy. He said he had looked forward to seeing Mrs. Thomas's

grave from the first moment that the trip was proposed said he wouldn't have joined if it hadn't been for the

I reminded him of George, and how we had to get the boat up to Shepperton by five o'clock to meet him, and

then he went for George. Why was George to fool about all day, and leave us to lug this lumbering old

topheavy barge up and down the river by ourselves to meet him? Why couldn't George come and do some

work? Why couldn't he have got the day off, and come down with us? Bank be blowed! What good was he at

"I never see him doing any work there," continued Harris, "whenever I go in. He sits behind a bit of glass all

day, trying to look as if he was doing something. What's the good of a man behind a bit of glass? I have to

work for my living. Why can't he work. What use is he there, and what's the good of their banks? They take

your money, and then, when you draw a cheque, they send it back smeared all over with `No effects,' `Refer

to drawer.' What's the good of that? That's the sort of trick they served me twice last week. I'm not going to

stand it much longer. I shall withdraw my account. If he was here, we could go and see that tomb. I don't

believe he's at the bank at all. He's larking about somewhere, that's what he's doing, leaving us to do all the

I pointed out to him that we were miles away from a pub.; and then he went on about the river, and what was

It is always best to let Harris have his head when he gets like this. Then he pumps himself out, and is quiet

I reminded him that there was concentrated lemonade in the hamper, and a gallonjar of water in the nose of

the boat, and that the two only wanted mixing to make a cool and refreshing beverage.

Then he flew off about lemonade, and "suchlike Sundayschool slops," as he termed them, gingerbeer,

raspberry syrup, He said they all produced dyspepsia, and ruined body and soul alike, and were the cause of

He said he must drink something, however, and climbed upon the seat, and leant over to get the bottle. It was

right at the bottom of the hamper, and seemed difficult to find, and he had to lean over further and further,

and, in trying to steer at the same time, from a topsyturvy point of view, he pulled the wrong line, and sent

the boat into the bank, and the shock upset him, and he dived down right into the hamper, and stood there on

his head, holding on to the sides of the boat like grim death, his legs sticking up into the air. He dared not

move for fear of going over, and had to stay there till I could get hold of his legs, and haul him back, and that

WE stopped under the willows by Kempton Park, and lunched. It is a pretty little spot there: a pleasant grass

plateau, running along by the water's edge, and overhung by willows. We had just commenced the third

course the bread and jam when a gentleman in shirtsleeves and a short pipe came along, and wanted to

know if we knew that we were trespassing. We said we hadn't given the matter sufficient consideration as yet

to enable us to arrive at a definite conclusion on that point, but that, if he assured us on his word as a

gentleman that we WERE trespassing, we would, without further hesitation, believe it.

He gave us the required assurance, and we thanked him, but he still hung about, and seemed to be

dissatisfied, so we asked him if there was anything further that we could do for him; and Harris, who is of a

I fancy he must have belonged to some society sworn to abstain from bread and jam; for he declined it quite

gruffly, as if he were vexed at being tempted with it, and he added that it was his duty to turn us off.

Harris said that if it was a duty it ought to be done, and asked the man what was his idea with regard to the

best means for accomplishing it. Harris is what you would call a wellmade man of about number one size,

and looks hard and bony, and the man measured him up and down, and said he would go and consult his

Of course, we never saw him any more, and, of course, all he really wanted was a shilling. There are a certain

number of riverside roughs who make quite an income, during the summer, by slouching about the banks and

blackmailing weakminded noodles in this way. They represent themselves as sent by the proprietor. The

proper course to pursue is to offer your name and address, and leave the owner, if he really has anything to do

with the matter, to summon you, and prove what damage you have done to his land by sitting down on a bit

of it. But the majority of people are so intensely lazy and timid, that they prefer to encourage the imposition

by giving in to it rather than put an end to it by the exertion of a little firmness.

Where it is really the owners that are to blame, they ought to be shown up. The selfishness of the riparian

proprietor grows with every year. If these men had their way they would close the river Thames altogether.

They actually do this along the minor tributary streams and in the backwaters. They drive posts into the bed

of the stream, and draw chains across from bank to bank, and nail huge noticeboards on every tree. The

sight of those noticeboards rouses every evil instinct in my nature. I feel I want to tear each one down, and

hammer it over the head of the man who put it up, until I have killed him, and then I would bury him, and put

I mentioned these feelings of mine to Harris, and he said he had them worse than that. He said he not only felt

he wanted to kill the man who caused the board to be put up, but that he should like to slaughter the whole of

his family and all his friends and relations, and then burn down his house. This seemed to me to be going too

"Not a bit of it. Serve `em all jolly well right, and I'd go and sing comic songs on the ruins."

I was vexed to hear Harris go on in this bloodthirsty strain. We never ought to allow our instincts of justice

to degenerate into mere vindictiveness. It was a long while before I could get Harris to take a more Christian

view of the subject, but I succeeded at last, and he promised me that he would spare the friends and relations

You have never heard Harris sing a comic song, or you would understand the service I had rendered to

mankind. It is one of Harris's fixed ideas that he CAN sing a comic song; the fixed idea, on the contrary,

among those of Harris's friends who have heard him try, is that he CAN'T and never will be able to, and that

When Harris is at a party, and is asked to sing, he replies: "Well, I can only sing a COMIC song, you know;"

and he says it in a tone that implies that his singing of THAT, however, is a thing that you ought to hear once,

"Oh, that IS nice," says the hostess. "Do sing one, Mr. Harris;" and Harris gets up, and makes for the piano,

with the beaming cheeriness of a generousminded man who is just about to give somebody something.

"Now, silence, please, everybody" says the hostess, turning round; "Mr. Harris is going to sing a comic

"Oh, how jolly!" they murmur; and they hurry in from the conservatory, and come up from the stairs, and go

and fetch each other from all over the house, and crowd into the drawingroom, and sit round, all smirking in

Well, you don't look for much of a voice in a comic song. You don't expect correct phrasing or vocalization.

You don't mind if a man does find out, when in the middle of a note, that he is too high, and comes down

with a jerk. You don't bother about time. You don't mind a man being two bars in front of the

accompaniment, and easing up in the middle of a line to argue it out with the pianist, and then starting the

You don't expect a man to never remember more than the first three lines of the first verse, and to keep on

repeating these until it is time to begin the chorus. You don't expect a man to break off in the middle of a line,

and snigger, and say, it's very funny, but he's blest if he can think of the rest of it, and then try and make it up

for himself, and, afterwards, suddenly recollect it, when he has got to an entirely different part of the song,

and break off, without a word of warning, to go back and let you have it then and there. You don't well, I

will just give you an idea of Harris's comic singing, and then you can judge of it for yourself.

afraid it's a very old thing, you know. I expect you all know it, you know. But it's the only thing I know. It's

the Judge's song out of PINAFORE no, I don't mean PINAFORE I mean you know what I mean the

[Murmurs of delight and anxiety to join in the chorus. Brilliant performance of prelude to the Judge's song in

"Trial by Jury" by nervous Pianist. Moment arrives for Harris to join in. Harris takes no notice of it. Nervous

pianist commences prelude over again, and Harris, commencing singing at the same time, dashes off the first

two lines of the First Lord's song out of "Pinafore." Nervous pianist tries to push on with prelude, gives it up,

and tries to follow Harris with accompaniment to Judge's song out "Trial by Jury," finds that doesn't answer,

and tries to recollect what he is doing, and where he is, feels his mind giving way, and stops short.]

HARRIS (WITH KINDLY ENCOURAGEMENT): "It's all right. You're doing it very well, indeed go on."

NERVOUS PIANIST: "I'm afraid there's a mistake somewhere. What are you singing?"

HARRIS (PROMPTLY): "Why the Judge's song out of Trial by Jury. Don't you know it?"

SOME FRIEND OF HARRIS'S (FROM THE BACK OF THE ROOM): "No, you're not, you chucklehead,

[Long argument between Harris and Harris's friend as to what Harris is really singing. Friend finally suggests

that it doesn't matter what Harris is singing so long as Harris gets on and sings it, and Harris, with an evident

sense of injustice rankling inside him, requests pianist to begin again. Pianist, thereupon, starts prelude to the

Admiral's song, and Harris, seizing what he considers to be a favourable opening in the music, begins.]

THE NEW PIANIST (CHEERILY): "Now then, old man, you start off, and I'll follow. We won't bother

LAUGHING): "By Jove! I beg your pardon. Of course I've been mixing up the two songs. It was Jenkins

(Aside to pianist): "It is too low, old man; we'll have that over again, if you don't mind."

No no, I cleaned the windows of the big front door. And I polished up the floor no, dash it I beg your

pardon funny thing, I can't think of that line. And I and I Oh, well, we'll get on to the chorus, and

`And I diddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddlede, Till now I am the ruler of the Queen's navee.'

"And he diddlediddlediddlediddlediddlediddledee'd, Till now he is the ruler of the Queen's navee."

And Harris never sees what an ass he is making of himself, and how he is annoying a lot of people who never

did him any harm. He honestly imagines that he has given them a treat, and says he will sing another comic

Speaking of comic songs and parties, reminds me of a rather curious incident at which I once assisted; which,

as it throws much light upon the inner mental working of human nature in general, ought, I think, to be

We were a fashionable and highly cultured party. We had on our best clothes, and we talked pretty, and were

very happy all except two young fellows, students, just returned from Germany, commonplace young men,

who seemed restless and uncomfortable, as if they found the proceedings slow. The truth was, we were too

clever for them. Our brilliant but polished conversation, and our highclass tastes, were beyond them. They

were out of place, among us. They never ought to have been there at all. Everybody agreed upon that, later

We played MORCEAUX from the old German masters. We discussed philosophy and ethics. We flirted with

Somebody recited a French poem after supper, and we said it was beautiful; and then a lady sang a

sentimental ballad in Spanish, and it made one or two of us weep it was so pathetic.

And then those two young men got up, and asked us if we had ever heard Herr Slossenn Boschen (who had

just arrived, and was then down in the supperroom) sing his great German comic song.

The young men said it was the funniest song that had ever been written, and that, if we liked, they would get

Herr Slossenn Boschen, whom they knew very well, to sing it. They said it was so funny that, when Herr

Slossenn Boschen had sung it once before the German Emperor, he (the German Emperor) had had to be

They said nobody could sing it like Herr Slossenn Boschen; he was so intensely serious all through it that you

might fancy he was reciting a tragedy, and that, of course, made it all the funnier. They said he never once

suggested by his tone or manner that he was singing anything funny that would spoil it. It was his air of

We said we yearned to hear it, that we wanted a good laugh; and they went downstairs, and fetched Herr

He appeared to be quite pleased to sing it, for he came up at once, and sat down to the piano without another

"Oh, it will amuse you. You will laugh," whispered the two young men, as they passed through the room, and

Herr Slossenn Boschen accompanied himself. The prelude did not suggest a comic song exactly. It was a

weird, soulful air. It quite made one's flesh creep; but we murmured to one another that it was the German

I don't understand German myself. I learned it at school, but forgot every word of it two years after I had left,

and have felt much better ever since. Still, I did not want the people there to guess my ignorance; so I hit

upon what I thought to be rather a good idea. I kept my eye on the two young students, and followed them.

When they tittered, I tittered; when they roared, I roared; and I also threw in a little snigger all by myself now

and then, as if I had seen a bit of humour that had escaped the others. I considered this particularly artful on

I noticed, as the song progressed, that a good many other people seemed to have their eye fixed on the two

young men, as well as myself. These other people also tittered when the young men tittered, and roared when

the young men roared; and, as the two young men tittered and roared and exploded with laughter pretty

And yet that German Professor did not seem happy. At first, when we began to laugh, the expression of his

face was one of intense surprise, as if laughter were the very last thing he had expected to be greeted with.

We thought this very funny: we said his earnest manner was half the humour. The slightest hint on his part

that he knew how funny he was would have completely ruined it all. As we continued to laugh, his surprise

gave way to an air of annoyance and indignation, and he scowled fiercely round upon us all (except upon the

two young men who, being behind him, he could not see). That sent us into convulsions. We told each other

that it would be the death of us, this thing. The words alone, we said, were enough to send us into fits, but

In the last verse, he surpassed himself. He glowered round upon us with a look of such concentrated ferocity

that, but for our being forewarned as to the German method of comic singing, we should have been nervous;

and he threw such a wailing note of agony into the weird music that, if we had not known it was a funny

He finished amid a perfect shriek of laughter. We said it was the funniest thing we had ever heard in all our

lives. We said how strange it was that, in the face of things like these, there should be a popular notion that

the Germans hadn't any sense of humour. And we asked the Professor why he didn't translate the song into

English, so that the common people could understand it, and hear what a real comic song was like.

Then Herr Slossenn Boschen got up, and went on awful. He swore at us in German (which I should judge to

be a singularly effective language for that purpose), and he danced, and shook his fists, and called us all the

It appeared that the song was not a comic song at all. It was about a young girl who lived in the Hartz

Mountains, and who had given up her life to save her lover's soul; and he died, and met her spirit in the air;

and then, in the last verse, he jilted her spirit, and went on with another spirit I'm not quite sure of the

details, but it was something very sad, I know. Herr Boschen said he had sung it once before the German

Emperor, and he (the German Emperor) had sobbed like a little child. He (Herr Boschen) said it was

generally acknowledged to be one of the most tragic and pathetic songs in the German language.

It was a trying situation for us very trying. There seemed to be no answer. We looked around for the two

young men who had done this thing, but they had left the house in an unostentatious manner immediately

That was the end of that party. I never saw a party break up so quietly, and with so little fuss. We never said

goodnight even to one another. We came downstairs one at a time, walking softly, and keeping the shady

side. We asked the servant for our hats and coats in whispers, and opened the door for ourselves, and slipped

We reached Sunbury Lock at halfpast three. The river is sweetly pretty just there before you come to the

I tried to do so once. I was sculling, and asked the fellows who were steering if they thought it could be done,

and they said, oh, yes, they thought so, if I pulled hard. We were just under the little footbridge that crosses

it between the two weirs, when they said this, and I bent down over the sculls, and set myself up, and pulled.

I pulled splendidly. I got well into a steady rhythmical swing. I put my arms, and my legs, and my back into

it. I set myself a good, quick, dashing stroke, and worked in really grand style. My two friends said it was a

pleasure to watch me. At the end of five minutes, I thought we ought to be pretty near the weir, and I looked

up. We were under the bridge, in exactly the same spot that we were when I began, and there were those two

idiots, injuring themselves by violent laughing. I had been grinding away like mad to keep that boat stuck still

under that bridge. I let other people pull up backwaters against strong streams now.

We sculled up to Walton, a rather large place for a riverside town. As with all riverside places, only the tiniest

corner of it comes down to the water, so that from the boat you might fancy it was a village of some

halfdozen houses, all told. Windsor and Abingdon are the only towns between London and Oxford that you

can really see anything of from the stream. All the others hide round corners, and merely peep at the river

down one street: my thanks to them for being so considerate, and leaving the riverbanks to woods and fields

Even Reading, though it does its best to spoil and sully and make hideous as much of the river as it can reach,

Caesar, of course, had a little place at Walton a camp, or an entrenchment, or something of that sort. Caesar

was a regular upriver man. Also Queen Elizabeth, she was there, too. You can never get away from that

woman, go where you will. Cromwell and Bradshaw (not the guide man, but the King Charles's head man)

likewise sojourned here. They must have been quite a pleasant little party, altogether.

There is an iron "scold's bridle" in Walton Church. They used these things in ancient days for curbing

women's tongues. They have given up the attempt now. I suppose iron was getting scarce, and nothing else

There are also tombs of note in the church, and I was afraid I should never get Harris past them; but he didn't

seem to think of them, and we went on. Above the bridge the river winds tremendously. This makes it look

picturesque; but it irritates you from a towing or sculling point of view, and causes argument between the

You pass Oatlands Park on the right bank here. It is a famous old place. Henry VIII. stole it from some one or

the other, I forget whom now, and lived in it. There is a grotto in the park which you can see for a fee, and

which is supposed to be very wonderful; but I cannot see much in it myself. The late Duchess of York, who

lived at Oatlands, was very fond of dogs, and kept an immense number. She had a special graveyard made, in

which to bury them when they died, and there they lie, about fifty of them, with a tombstone over each, and

At "Corway Stakes" the first bend above Walton Bridge was fought a battle between Caesar and

Cassivelaunus. Cassivelaunus had prepared the river for Caesar, by planting it full of stakes (and had, no

doubt, put up a noticeboard). But Caesar crossed in spite of this. You couldn't choke Caesar off that river.

Halliford and Shepperton are both pretty little spots where they touch the river; but there is nothing

remarkable about either of them. There is a tomb in Shepperton churchyard, however, with a poem on it, and

I was nervous lest Harris should want to get out and fool round it. I saw him fix a longing eye on the

landingstage as we drew near it, so I managed, by an adroit movement, to jerk his cap into the water, and in

the excitement of recovering that, and his indignation at my clumsiness, he forgot all about his beloved

At Weybridge, the Wey (a pretty little stream, navigable for small boats up to Guildford, and one which I

have always been making up my mind to explore, and never have), the Bourne, and the Basingstoke Canal all

enter the Thames together. The lock is just opposite the town, and the first thing that we saw, when we came

in view of it, was George's blazer on one of the lock gates, closer inspection showing that George was inside

Montmorency set up a furious barking, I shrieked, Harris roared; George waved his hat, and yelled back. The

lockkeeper rushed out with a drag, under the impression that somebody had fallen into the lock, and

George had rather a curious oilskincovered parcel in his hand. It was round and flat at one end, with a long

"No," said George, with a strange, wild look glittering in his eyes; "they are all the rage this season;

"Not exactly," replied George: "but it's very easy, they tell me; and I've got the instruction book!"

WE made George work, now we had got him. He did not want to work, of course; that goes without saying.

He had had a hard time in the City, so he explained. Harris, who is callous in his nature, and not prone to pity,

"Ah! and now you are going to have a hard time on the river for a change; change is good for everyone. Out

He could not in conscience not even George's conscience object, though he did suggest that, perhaps, it

would be better for him to stop in the boat, and get tea ready, while Harris and I towed, because getting tea

was such a worrying work, and Harris and I looked tired. The only reply we made to this, however, was to

There is something very strange and unaccountable about a towline. You roll it up with as much patience

and care as you would take to fold up a new pair of trousers, and five minutes afterwards, when you pick it

I do not wish to be insulting, but I firmly believe that if you took an average towline, and stretched it out

straight across the middle of a field, and then turned your back on it for thirty seconds, that, when you looked

round again, you would find that it had got itself altogether in a heap in the middle of the field, and had

twisted itself up, and tied itself into knots, and lost its two ends, and become all loops; and it would take you

a good halfhour, sitting down there on the grass and swearing all the while, to disentangle it again.

That is my opinion of towlines in general. Of course, there may be honourable exceptions; I do not say that

there are not. There may be towlines that are a credit to their profession conscientious, respectable

towlines towlines that do not imagine they are crochet work, and try to knit themselves up into

antimacassars the instant they are left to themselves. I say there MAY be such towlines; I sincerely hope

This towline I had taken in myself just before we had got to the lock. I would not let Harris touch it, because

he is careless. I had looped it round slowly and cautiously, and tied it up in the middle, and folded it in two,

and laid it down gently at the bottom of the boat. Harris had lifted it up scientifically, and had put it into

George's hand. George had taken it firmly, and held it away from him, and had begun to unravel it as if he

were taking the swaddling clothes off a newborn infant; and, before he had unwound a dozen yards, the

It is always the same, and the same sort of thing always goes on in connection with it. The man on the bank,

who is trying to disentangle it, thinks all the fault lies with the man who rolled it up; and when a man up the

"What have you been trying to do with it, make a fishingnet of it? You've made a nice mess you have; why

couldn't you wind it up properly, you silly dummy?" he grunts from time to time as he struggles wildly with

it, and lays it out flat on the towpath, and runs round and round it, trying to find the end.

On the other hand, the man who wound it up thinks the whole cause of the muddle rests with the man who is

"It was all right when you took it!" he exclaims indignantly. "Why don't you think what you are doing? You

go about things in such a slapdash style. You'd get a scaffolding pole entangled you would!"

And they feel so angry with one another that they would like to hang each other with the thing.

Ten minutes go by, and the first man gives a yell and goes mad, and dances on the rope, and tries to pull it

straight by seizing hold of the first piece that comes to his hand and hauling at it. Of course, this only gets it

into a tighter tangle than ever. Then the second man climbs out of the boat and comes to help him, and they

get in each other's way, and hinder one another. They both get hold of the same bit of line, and pull at it in

opposite directions, and wonder where it is caught. In the end, they do get it clear, and then turn round and

This really happened once to my own knowledge. It was up by Boveney, one rather windy morning. We were

pulling down stream, and, as we came round the bend, we noticed a couple of men on the bank. They were

looking at each other with as bewildered and helplessly miserable expression as I have ever witnessed on any

human countenance before or since, and they held a long towline between them. It was clear that something

"Why, our boat's gone off!" they replied in an indignant tone. "We just got out to disentangle the towline,

And they seemed hurt at what they evidently regarded as a mean and ungrateful act on the part of the boat.

We found the truant for them half a mile further down, held by some rushes, and we brought it back to them.

I shall never forget the picture of those two men walking up and down the bank with a towline, looking for

One sees a good many funny incidents up the river in connection with towing. One of the most common is

the sight of a couple of towers, walking briskly along, deep in an animated discussion, while the man in the

boat, a hundred yards behind them, is vainly shrieking to them to stop, and making frantic signs of distress

with a scull. Something has gone wrong; the rudder has come off, or the boathook has slipped overboard, or

"Hi! stop a minute, will you?" he shouts cheerily. "I've dropped my hat overboard."

After that he springs up, and dances about, and roars himself red in the face, and curses everything he knows.

And the small boys on the bank stop and jeer at him, and pitch stones at him as he is pulled along past them,

Much of this sort of trouble would be saved if those who are towing would keep remembering that they are

towing, and give a pretty frequent look round to see how their man is getting on. It is best to let one person

tow. When two are doing it, they get chattering, and forget, and the boat itself, offering, as it does, but little

As an example of how utterly oblivious a pair of towers can be to their work, George told us, later on in the

evening, when we were discussing the subject after supper, of a very curious instance.

He and three other men, so he said, were sculling a very heavily laden boat up from Maidenhead one evening,

and a little above Cookham lock they noticed a fellow and a girl, walking along the towpath, both deep in an

apparently interesting and absorbing conversation. They were carrying a boathook between them, and,

attached to the boathook was a towline, which trailed behind them, its end in the water. No boat was near,

no boat was in sight. There must have been a boat attached to that towline at some time or other, that was

certain; but what had become of it, what ghastly fate had overtaken it, and those who had been left in it, was

buried in mystery. Whatever the accident may have been, however, it had in no way disturbed the young lady

and gentleman, who were towing. They had the boathook and they had the line, and that seemed to be all

George was about to call out and wake them up, but, at that moment, a bright idea flashed across him, and he

didn't. He got the hitcher instead, and reached over, and drew in the end of the towline; and they made a

loop in it, and put it over their mast, and then they tidied up the sculls, and went and sat down in the stern,

And that young man and young woman towed those four hulking chaps and a heavy boat up to Marlow.

George said he never saw so much thoughtful sadness concentrated into one glance before, as when, at the

lock, that young couple grasped the idea that, for the last two miles, they had been towing the wrong boat.

George fancied that, if it had not been for the restraining influence of the sweet woman at his side, the young

The maiden was the first to recover from her surprise, and, when she did, she clasped her hands, and said,

Another example of the dangerous want of sympathy between tower and towed was witnessed by George and

myself once up near Walton. It was where the towpath shelves gently down into the water, and we were

camping on the opposite bank, noticing things in general. Byandby a small boat came in sight, towed

through the water at a tremendous pace by a powerful barge horse, on which sat a very small boy. Scattered

about the boat, in dreamy and reposeful attitudes, lay five fellows, the man who was steering having a

"I should like to see him pull the wrong line," murmured George, as they passed. And at that precise moment

the man did it, and the boat rushed up the bank with a noise like the ripping up of forty thousand linen sheets.

Two men, a hamper, and three oars immediately left the boat on the larboard side, and reclined on the bank,

and one and a half moments afterwards, two other men disembarked from the starboard, and sat down among

boathooks and sails and carpetbags and bottles. The last man went on twenty yards further, and then got

This seemed to sort of lighten the boat, and it went on much easier, the small boy shouting at the top of his

voice, and urging his steed into a gallop. The fellows sat up and stared at one another. It was some seconds

before they realised what had happened to them, but, when they did, they began to shout lustily for the boy to

stop. He, however, was too much occupied with the horse to hear them, and we watched them, flying after

I cannot say I was sorry at their mishap. Indeed, I only wish that all the young fools who have their boats

towed in this fashion and plenty do could meet with similar misfortunes. Besides the risk they run

themselves, they become a danger and an annoyance to every other boat they pass. Going at the pace they do,

it is impossible for them to get out of anybody else's way, or for anybody else to get out of theirs. Their line

gets hitched across your mast, and overturns you, or it catches somebody in the boat, and either throws them

into the water, or cuts their face open. The best plan is to stand your ground, and be prepared to keep them off

Of all experiences in connection with towing, the most exciting is being towed by girls. It is a sensation that

nobody ought to miss. It takes three girls to tow always; two hold the rope, and the other one runs round and

round, and giggles. They generally begin by getting themselves tied up. They get the line round their legs,

and have to sit down on the path and undo each other, and then they twist it round their necks, and are nearly

strangled. They fix it straight, however, at last, and start off at a run, pulling the boat along at quite a

dangerous pace. At the end of a hundred yards they are naturally breathless, and suddenly stop, and all sit

down on the grass and laugh, and your boat drifts out to mid stream and turns round, before you know what

has happened, or can get hold of a scull. Then they stand up, and are surprised.

They pull on pretty steadily for a bit, after this, and then it all at once occurs to one of them that she will pin

"Go back, Emily, and see what it is they want," says one; and Emily comes back, and asks what it is.

"Why, we can't steer, if you keep stopping. You must keep some way on the boat."

You find the shawl, and hand it out, and by this time another one has come back and thinks she will have hers

too, and they take Mary's on chance, and Mary does not want it, so they bring it back and have a

pocketcomb instead. It is about twenty minutes before they get off again, and, at the next corner, they see a

George got the line right after a while, and towed us steadily on to Penton Hook. There we discussed the

important question of camping. We had decided to sleep on board that night, and we had either to lay up just

about there, or go on past Staines. It seemed early to think about shutting up then, however, with the sun still

in the heavens, and we settled to push straight on for Runnymead, three and a half miles further, a quiet

We all wished, however, afterward that we had stopped at Penton Hook. Three or four miles up stream is a

trifle, early in the morning, but it is a weary pull at the end of a long day. You take no interest in the scenery

during these last few miles. You do not chat and laugh. Every halfmile you cover seems like two. You can

hardly believe you are only where you are, and you are convinced that the map must be wrong; and, when

you have trudged along for what seems to you at least ten miles, and still the lock is not in sight, you begin to

I remember being terribly upset once up the river (in a figurative sense, I mean). I was out with a young lady

cousin on my mother's side and we were pulling down to Goring. It was rather late, and we were anxious

to get in at least SHE was anxious to get in. It was halfpast six when we reached Benson's lock, and dusk

was drawing on, and she began to get excited then. She said she must be in to supper. I said it was a thing I

felt I wanted to be in at, too; and I drew out a map I had with me to see exactly how far it was. I saw it was

just a mile and a half to the next lock Wallingford and five on from there to Cleeve.

"Oh, it's all right!" I said. "We'll be through the next lock before seven, and then there is only one more;" and

We passed the bridge, and soon after that I asked if she saw the lock. She said no, she did not see any lock;

and I said, "Oh!" and pulled on. Another five minutes went by, and then I asked her to look again.

"You you are sure you know a lock, when you do see one?" I asked hesitatingly, not wishing to offend her.

The question did offend her, however, and she suggested that I had better look for myself; so I laid down the

sculls, and took a view. The river stretched out straight before us in the twilight for about a mile; not a ghost

I did not see how that was possible; though, as I suggested, we might have somehow got into the weir stream,

This idea did not comfort her in the least, and she began to cry. She said we should both be drowned, and that

It seemed an excessive punishment, I thought; but my cousin thought not, and hoped it would all soon be

I tried to reassure her, and to make light of the whole affair. I said that the fact evidently was that I was not

rowing as fast as I fancied I was, but that we should soon reach the lock now; and I pulled on for another

Then I began to get nervous myself. I looked again at the map. There was Wallingford lock, clearly marked, a

mile and a half below Benson's. It was a good, reliable map; and, besides, I recollected the lock myself. I had

been through it twice. Where were we? What had happened to us? I began to think it must be all a dream, and

that I was really asleep in bed, and should wake up in a minute, and be told it was past ten.

I asked my cousin if she thought it could be a dream, and she replied that she was just about to ask me the

same question; and then we both wondered if we were both asleep, and if so, who was the real one that was

I still went on pulling, however, and still no lock came in sight, and the river grew more and more gloomy

and mysterious under the gathering shadows of night, and things seemed to be getting weird and uncanny. I

thought of hobgoblins and banshees, and willo'thewisps, and those wicked girls who sit up all night on

rocks, and lure people into whirl pools and things; and I wished I had been a better man, and knew more

hymns; and in the middle of these reflections I heard the blessed strains of "He's got `em on," played, badly,

I do not admire the tones of a concertina, as a rule; but, oh! how beautiful the music seemed to us both then

far, far more beautiful than the voice of Orpheus or the lute of Apollo, or anything of that sort could have

sounded. Heavenly melody, in our then state of mind, would only have still further harrowed us. A

soulmoving harmony, correctly performed, we should have taken as a spiritwarning, and have given up all

hope. But about the strains of "He's got `em on," jerked spasmodically, and with involuntary variations, out of

The sweet sounds drew nearer, and soon the boat from which they were worked lay alongside us.

It contained a party of provincial `Arrys and `Arriets, out for a moonlight sail. (There was not any moon, but

that was not their fault.) I never saw more attractive, lovable people in all my life. I hailed them, and asked if

they could tell me the way to Wallingford lock; and I explained that I had been looking for it for the last two

"Wallingford lock!" they answered. "Lor' love you, sir, that's been done away with for over a year. There ain't

no Wallingford lock now, sir. You're close to Cleeve now. Blow me tight if `ere ain't a gentleman been

I had never thought of that. I wanted to fall upon all their necks and bless them; but the stream was running

too strong just there to allow of this, so I had to content myself with mere coldsounding words of gratitude.

We thanked them over and over again, and we said it was a lovely night, and we wished them a pleasant trip,

and, I think, I invited them all to come and spend a week with me, and my cousin said her mother would be

so pleased to see them. And we sang the soldiers' chorus out of FAUST, and got home in time for supper,

HARRIS and I began to think that Bell Weir lock must have been done away with after the same manner.

George had towed us up to Staines, and we had taken the boat from there, and it seemed that we were

dragging fifty tons after us, and were walking forty miles. It was halfpast seven when we were through, and

we all got in, and sculled up close to the left bank, looking out for a spot to haul up in.

We had originally intended to go on to Magna Charta Island, a sweetly pretty part of the river, where it winds

through a soft, green valley, and to camp in one of the many picturesque inlets to be found round that tiny

shore. But, somehow, we did not feel that we yearned for the picturesque nearly so much now as we had

earlier in the day. A bit of water between a coalbarge and a gasworks would have quite satisfied us for that

night. We did not want scenery. We wanted to have our supper and go to bed. However, we did pull up to the

point "Picnic Point," it is called and dropped into a very pleasant nook under a great elmtree, to the

Then we thought we were going to have supper (we had dispensed with tea, so as to save time), but George

said no; that we had better get the canvas up first, before it got quite dark, and while we could see what we

were doing. Then, he said, all our work would be done, and we could sit down to eat with an easy mind.

That canvas wanted more putting up than I think any of us had bargained for. It looked so simple in the

abstract. You took five iron arches, like gigantic croquet hoops, and fitted them up over the boat, and then

stretched the canvas over them, and fastened it down: it would take quite ten minutes, we thought.

We took up the hoops, and began to drop them into the sockets placed for them. You would not imagine this

to be dangerous work; but, looking back now, the wonder to me is that any of us are alive to tell the tale.

They were not hoops, they were demons. First they would not fit into their sockets at all, and we had to jump

on them, and kick them, and hammer at them with the boathook; and, when they were in, it turned out that

they were the wrong hoops for those particular sockets, and they had to come out again.

But they would not come out, until two of us had gone and struggled with them for five minutes, when they

would jump up suddenly, and try and throw us into the water and drown us. They had hinges in the middle,

and, when we were not looking, they nipped us with these hinges in delicate parts of the body; and, while we

were wrestling with one side of the hoop, and endeavouring to persuade it to do its duty, the other side would

We got them fixed at last, and then all that was to be done was to arrange the covering over them. George

unrolled it, and fastened one end over the nose of the boat. Harris stood in the middle to take it from George

and roll it on to me, and I kept by the stern to receive it. It was a long time coming down to me. George did

How he managed it I do not know, he could not explain himself; but by some mysterious process or other he

succeeded, after ten minutes of superhuman effort, in getting himself completely rolled up in it. He was so

firmly wrapped round and tucked in and folded over, that he could not get out. He, of course, made frantic

struggles for freedom the birthright of every Englishman, and, in doing so (I learned this afterwards),

knocked over George; and then George, swearing at Harris, began to struggle too, and got himself entangled

I knew nothing about all this at the time. I did not understand the business at all myself. I had been told to

stand where I was, and wait till the canvas came to me, and Montmorency and I stood there and waited, both

as good as gold. We could see the canvas being violently jerked and tossed about, pretty considerably; but we

We also heard much smothered language coming from underneath it, and we guessed that they were finding

the job rather troublesome, and concluded that we would wait until things had got a little simpler before we

We waited some time, but matters seemed to get only more and more involved, until, at last, George's head

"Give us a hand here, can't you, you cuckoo; standing there like a stuffed mummy, when you see we are both

I never could withstand an appeal for help, so I went and undid them; not before it was time, either, for Harris

It took us half an hour's hard labour, after that, before it was properly up, and then we cleared the decks, and

got out supper. We put the kettle on to boil, up in the nose of the boat, and went down to the stern and

That is the only way to get a kettle to boil up the river. If it sees that you are waiting for it and are anxious, it

will never even sing. You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not going to have any tea at

all. You must not even look round at it. Then you will soon hear it sputtering away, mad to be made into tea.

It is a good plan, too, if you are in a great hurry, to talk very loudly to each other about how you don't need

any tea, and are not going to have any. You get near the kettle, so that it can overhear you, and then you shout

out, "I don't want any tea; do you, George?" to which George shouts back, "Oh, no, I don't like tea; we'll have

lemonade instead tea's so indigestible." Upon which the kettle boils over, and puts the stove out.

We adopted this harmless bit of trickery, and the result was that, by the time everything else was ready, the

For fiveandthirty minutes not a sound was heard throughout the length and breadth of that boat, save the

clank of cutlery and crockery, and the steady grinding of four sets of molars. At the end of fiveandthirty

minutes, Harris said, "Ah!" and took his left leg out from under him and put his right one there instead.

Five minutes afterwards, George said, "Ah!" too, and threw his plate out on the bank; and, three minutes later

than that, Montmorency gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled

over on his side, and spread his legs out; and then I said, "Ah!" and bent my head back, and bumped it against

How good one feels when one is full how satisfied with ourselves and with the world! People who have

tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the

business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained. One feels so forgiving and generous after a

It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think,

unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon, it says,

"Work!" After beefsteak and porter, it says, "Sleep!" After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don't

let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, "Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent,

and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering

thought, and soar, a god like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming

After hot muffins, it says, "Be dull and soulless, like a beast of the field a brainless animal, with listless

eye, unlit by any ray of fancy, or of hope, or fear, or love, or life." And after brandy, taken in sufficient

quantity, it says, "Now, come, fool, grin and tumble, that your fellowmen may laugh drivel in folly, and

splutter in senseless sounds, and show what a helpless ninny is poor man whose wit and will are drowned,

We are but the veriest, sorriest slaves of our stomach. Reach not after morality and righteousness, my friends;

watch vigilantly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come

and reign within your heart, unsought by any effort of your own; and you will be a good citizen, a loving

Before our supper, Harris and George and I were quarrelsome and snappy and illtempered; after our supper,

we sat and beamed on one another, and we beamed upon the dog, too. We loved each other, we loved

everybody. Harris, in moving about, trod on George's corn. Had this happened before supper, George would

have expressed wishes and desires concerning Harris's fate in this world and the next that would have made a

And Harris, instead of merely observing, in his most unpleasant tones, that a fellow could hardly help

treading on some bit of George's foot, if he had to move about at all within ten yards of where George was

sitting, suggesting that George never ought to come into an ordinary sized boat with feet that length, and

advising him to hang them over the side, as he would have done before supper, now said: "Oh, I'm so sorry,

And George said: "Not at all;" that it was his fault; and Harris said no, it was his.

George said why could not we be always like this away from the world, with its sin and temptation, leading

sober, peaceful lives, and doing good. I said it was the sort of thing I had often longed for myself; and we

discussed the possibility of our going away, we four, to some handy, wellfitted desert island, and living

Harris said that the danger about desert islands, as far as he had heard, was that they were so damp: but

And then we got on to drains, and that put George in mind of a very funny thing that happened to his father

once. He said his father was travelling with another fellow through Wales, and, one night, they stopped at a

little inn, where there were some other fellows, and they joined the other fellows, and spent the evening with

They had a very jolly evening, and sat up late, and, by the time they came to go to bed, they (this was when

George's father was a very young man) were slightly jolly, too. They (George's father and George's father's

friend) were to sleep in the same room, but in different beds. They took the candle, and went up. The candle

lurched up against the wall when they got into the room, and went out, and they had to undress and grope into

bed in the dark. This they did; but, instead of getting into separate beds, as they thought they were doing, they

both climbed into the same one without knowing it one getting in with his head at the top, and the other

crawling in from the opposite side of the compass, and lying with his feet on the pillow.

"Why, there's a man in my bed," said George's father; "here's his feet on my pillow."

"Well, it's an extraordinary thing, Tom," answered the other; "but I'm blest if there isn't a man in my bed,

There was a brief struggle, followed by two heavy bumps on the floor, and then a rather doleful voice said:

"Why it's so curious," murmured Harris, "but precisely that very same thing happened to MY father once at a

country inn. I've often heard him tell the tale. I thought it might have been the same inn."

We turned in at ten that night, and I thought I should sleep well, being tired; but I didn't. As a rule, I undress

and put my head on the pillow, and then somebody bangs at the door, and says it is halfpast eight: but,

tonight, everything seemed against me; the novelty of it all, the hardness of the boat, the cramped position (I

was lying with my feet under one seat, and my head on another), the sound of the lapping water round the

I did get to sleep for a few hours, and then some part of the boat which seemed to have grown up in the night

for it certainly was not there when we started, and it had disappeared by the morning kept digging into

my spine. I slept through it for a while, dreaming that I had swallowed a sovereign, and that they were cutting

a hole in my back with a gimlet, so as to try and get it out. I thought it very unkind of them, and I told them I

would owe them the money, and they should have it at the end of the month. But they would not hear of that,

and said it would be much better if they had it then, because otherwise the interest would accumulate so. I got

quite cross with them after a bit, and told them what I thought of them, and then they gave the gimlet such an

The boat seemed stuffy, and my head ached; so I thought I would step out into the cool nightair. I slipped on

what clothes I could find about some of my own, and some of George's and Harris's and crept under the

It was a glorious night. The moon had sunk, and left the quiet earth alone with the stars. It seemed as if, in the

silence and the hush, while we her children slept, they were talking with her, their sister conversing of

mighty mysteries in voices too vast and deep for childish human ears to catch the sound.

They awe us, these strange stars, so cold, so clear. We are as children whose small feet have strayed into

some dimlit temple of the god they have been taught to worship but know not; and, standing where the

echoing dome spans the long vista of the shadowy light, glance up, half hoping, half afraid to see some awful

And yet it seems so full of comfort and of strength, the night. In its great presence, our small sorrows creep

away, ashamed. The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and of bitter

thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then Night, like some great loving mother,

gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tearstained faces up to hers, and smiles; and,

though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom,

Sometimes, our pain is very deep and real, and we stand before her very silent, because there is no language

for our pain, only a moan. Night's heart is full of pity for us: she cannot ease our aching; she takes our hand in

hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and, borne on her dark wings, we

pass for a moment into a mightier Presence than her own, and in the wondrous light of that great Presence, all

human life lies like a book before us, and we know that Pain and Sorrow are but the angels of God.

Only those who have worn the crown of suffering can look upon that wondrous light; and they, when they

Once upon a time, through a strange country, there rode some goodly knights, and their path lay by a deep

wood, where tangled briars grew very thick and strong, and tore the flesh of them that lost their way therein.

And the leaves of the trees that grew in the wood were very dark and thick, so that no ray of light came

And, as they passed by that dark wood, one knight of those that rode, missing his comrades, wandered far

away, and returned to them no more; and they, sorely grieving, rode on without him, mourning him as one

Now, when they reached the fair castle towards which they had been journeying, they stayed there many

days, and made merry; and one night, as they sat in cheerful ease around the logs that burned in the great hall,

and drank a loving measure, there came the comrade they had lost, and greeted them. His clothes were

ragged, like a beggar's, and many sad wounds were on his sweet flesh, but upon his face there shone a great

And they questioned him, asking him what had befallen him: and he told them how in the dark wood he had

lost his way, and had wandered many days and nights, till, torn and bleeding, he had lain him down to die.

Then, when he was nigh unto death, lo! through the savage gloom there came to him a stately maiden, and

took him by the hand and led him on through devious paths, unknown to any man, until upon the darkness of

the wood there dawned a light such as the light of day was unto but as a little lamp unto the sun; and, in that

wondrous light, our wayworn knight saw as in a dream a vision, and so glorious, so fair the vision seemed,

that of his bleeding wounds he thought no more, but stood as one entranced, whose joy is deep as is the sea,

And the vision faded, and the knight, kneeling upon the ground, thanked the good saint who into that sad

And the name of the dark forest was Sorrow; but of the vision that the good knight saw therein we may not

I WOKE at six the next morning; and found George awake too. We both turned round, and tried to go to

sleep again, but we could not. Had there been any particular reason why we should not have gone to sleep

again, but have got up and dressed then and there, we should have dropped off while we were looking at our

watches, and have slept till ten. As there was no earthly necessity for our getting up under another two hours

at the very least, and our getting up at that time was an utter absurdity, it was only in keeping with the natural

cussedness of things in general that we should both feel that lying down for five minutes more would be

George said that the same kind of thing, only worse, had happened to him some eighteen months ago, when

he was lodging by himself in the house of a certain Mrs. Gippings. He said his watch went wrong one

evening, and stopped at a quarterpast eight. He did not know this at the time because, for some reason or

other, he forgot to wind it up when he went to bed (an unusual occurrence with him), and hung it up over his

It was in the winter when this happened, very near the shortest day, and a week of fog into the bargain, so the

fact that it was still very dark when George woke in the morning was no guide to him as to the time. He

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" exclaimed George; "and here have I got to be in the City by nine.

Why didn't somebody call me? Oh, this is a shame!" And he flung the watch down, and sprang out of bed,

and had a cold bath, and washed himself, and dressed himself, and shaved himself in cold water because there

was not time to wait for the hot, and then rushed and had another look at the watch.

Whether the shaking it had received in being thrown down on the bed had started it, or how it was, George

could not say, but certain it was that from a quarterpast eight it had begun to go, and now pointed to twenty

George snatched it up, and rushed downstairs. In the sittingroom, all was dark and silent: there was no fire,

no breakfast. George said it was a wicked shame of Mrs. G., and he made up his mind to tell her what he

thought of her when he came home in the evening. Then he dashed on his greatcoat and hat, and, seizing his

umbrella, made for the front door. The door was not even unbolted. George anathematized Mrs. G. for a lazy

old woman, and thought it was very strange that people could not get up at a decent, respectable time,

He ran hard for a quarter of a mile, and at the end of that distance it began to be borne in upon him as a

strange and curious thing that there were so few people about, and that there were no shops open. It was

certainly a very dark and foggy morning, but still it seemed an unusual course to stop all business on that

account. HE had to go to business: why should other people stop in bed merely because it was dark and

At length he reached Holborn. Not a shutter was down! not a bus was about! There were three men in sight,

one of whom was a policeman; a marketcart full of cabbages, and a dilapidated looking cab. George pulled

out his watch and looked at it: it was five minutes to nine! He stood still and counted his pulse. He stooped

down and felt his legs. Then, with his watch still in his hand, he went up to the policeman, and asked him if

"What's the time?" said the man, eyeing George up and down with evident suspicion; "why, if you listen you

"But it's only gone three!" said George in an injured tone, when it had finished.

"Oh! that's where it is, is it?" replied the man; "well, you take my advice and go there quietly, and take that

At first, when he got in, he determined to undress and go to bed again; but when he thought of the redressing

and rewashing, and the having of another bath, he determined he would not, but would sit up and go to sleep

But he could not get to sleep: he never felt more wakeful in his life; so he lit the lamp and got out the

chessboard, and played himself a game of chess. But even that did not enliven him: it seemed slow

somehow; so he gave chess up and tried to read. He did not seem able to take any sort of interest in reading

It was horribly lonesome and dismal, and all the policemen he met regarded him with undisguised suspicion,

and turned their lanterns on him and followed him about, and this had such an effect upon him at last that he

began to feel as if he really had done something, and he got to slinking down the bystreets and hiding in

Of course, this conduct made the force only more distrustful of him than ever, and they would come and rout

him out and ask him what he was doing there; and when he answered, "Nothing," he had merely come out for

a stroll (it was then four o'clock in the morning), they looked as though they did not believe him, and two

plainclothes constables came home with him to see if he really did live where he had said he did. They saw

him go in with his key, and then they took up a position opposite and watched the house.

He thought he would light the fire when he got inside, and make himself some breakfast, just to pass away

the time; but he did not seem able to handle anything from a scuttleful of coals to a teaspoon without

dropping it or falling over it, and making such a noise that he was in mortal fear that it would wake Mrs. G.

up, and that she would think it was burglars and open the window and call "Police!" and then these two

detectives would rush in and handcuff him, and march him off to the policecourt.

He was in a morbidly nervous state by this time, and he pictured the trial, and his trying to explain the

circumstances to the jury, and nobody believing him, and his being sentenced to twenty years' penal

servitude, and his mother dying of a broken heart. So he gave up trying to get breakfast, and wrapped himself

up in his overcoat and sat in the easychair till Mrs. G came down at halfpast seven.

He said he had never got up too early since that morning: it had been such a warning to him.

We had been sitting huddled up in our rugs while George had been telling me this true story, and on his

finishing it I set to work to wake up Harris with a scull. The third prod did it: and he turned over on the other

side, and said he would be down in a minute, and that he would have his laceup boots. We soon let him

know where he was, however, by the aid of the hitcher, and he sat up suddenly, sending Montmorency, who

had been sleeping the sleep of the just right on the middle of his chest, sprawling across the boat.

Then we pulled up the canvas, and all four of us poked our heads out over the offside, and looked down at

the water and shivered. The idea, overnight, had been that we should get up early in the morning, fling off our

rugs and shawls, and, throwing back the canvas, spring into the river with a joyous shout, and revel in a long

delicious swim. Somehow, now the morning had come, the notion seemed less tempting. The water looked

There was no rush for precedence. George settled the matter so far as he was concerned by retiring into the

boat and pulling on his socks. Montmorency gave vent to an involuntary howl, as if merely thinking of the

thing had given him the horrors; and Harris said it would be so difficult to get into the boat again, and went

I did not altogether like to give in, though I did not relish the plunge. There might be snags about, or weeds, I

thought. I meant to compromise matters by going down to the edge and just throwing the water over myself;

so I took a towel and crept out on the bank and wormed my way along on to the branch of a tree that dipped

It was bitterly cold. The wind cut like a knife. I thought I would not throw the water over myself after all. I

would go back into the boat and dress; and I turned to do so; and, as I turned, the silly branch gave way, and I

and the towel went in together with a tremendous splash, and I was out midstream with a gallon of Thames

"By Jove! old J.'s gone in," I heard Harris say, as I came blowing to the surface. "I didn't think he'd have the

"Lovely," I spluttered back. "You are duffers not to come in. I wouldn't have missed this for worlds. Why

Rather an amusing thing happened while dressing that morning. I was very cold when I got back into the

boat, and, in my hurry to get my shirt on, I accidentally jerked it into the water. It made me awfully wild,

especially as George burst out laughing. I could not see anything to laugh at, and I told George so, and he

only laughed the more. I never saw a man laugh so much. I quite lost my temper with him at last, and I

pointed out to him what a drivelling maniac of an imbecile idiot he was; but he only roared the louder. And

then, just as I was landing the shirt, I noticed that it was not my shirt at all, but George's, which I had

mistaken for mine; whereupon the humour of the thing struck me for the first time, and I began to laugh. And

the more I looked from George's wet shirt to George, roaring with laughter, the more I was amused, and I

I could not answer him at all for a while, I was laughing so, but, at last, between my peals I managed to jerk

I never saw a man's face change from lively to severe so suddenly in all my life before.

"What!" he yelled, springing up. "You silly cuckoo! Why can't you be more careful what you're doing? Why

the deuce don't you go and dress on the bank? You're not fit to be in a boat, you're not. Gimme the hitcher."

I tried to make him see the fun of the thing, but he could not. George is very dense at seeing a joke

Harris proposed that we should have scrambled eggs for breakfast. He said he would cook them. It seemed,

from his account, that he was very good at doing scrambled eggs. He often did them at picnics and when out

on yachts. He was quite famous for them. People who had once tasted his scrambled eggs, so we gathered

from his conversation, never cared for any other food afterwards, but pined away and died when they could

It made our mouths water to hear him talk about the things, and we handed him out the stove and the

fryingpan and all the eggs that had not smashed and gone over everything in the hamper, and begged him to

He had some trouble in breaking the eggs or rather not so much trouble in breaking them exactly as in

getting them into the fryingpan when broken, and keeping them off his trousers, and preventing them from

running up his sleeve; but he fixed some halfadozen into the pan at last, and then squatted down by the

It seemed harassing work, so far as George and I could judge. Whenever he went near the pan he burned

himself, and then he would drop everything and dance round the stove, flicking his fingers about and cursing

the things. Indeed, every time George and I looked round at him he was sure to be performing this feat. We

We did not know what scrambled eggs were, and we fancied that it must be some Red Indian or Sandwich

Islands sort of dish that required dances and incantations for its proper cooking. Montmorency went and put

his nose over it once, and the fat spluttered up and scalded him, and then he began dancing and cursing.

Altogether it was one of the most interesting and exciting operations I have ever witnessed. George and I

The result was not altogether the success that Harris had anticipated. There seemed so little to show for the

business. Six eggs had gone into the fryingpan, and all that came out was a teaspoonful of burnt and

Harris said it was the fault of the fryingpan, and thought it would have gone better if we had had a

fishkettle and a gasstove; and we decided not to attempt the dish again until we had those aids to

The sun had got more powerful by the time we had finished breakfast, and the wind had dropped, and it was

as lovely a morning as one could desire. Little was in sight to remind us of the nineteenth century; and, as we

looked out upon the river in the morning sunlight, we could almost fancy that the centuries between us and

that evertobefamous June morning of 1215 had been drawn aside, and that we, English yeomen's sons in

homespun cloth, with dirk at belt, were waiting there to witness the writing of that stupendous page of

history, the meaning whereof was to be translated to the common people some four hundred and odd years

It is a fine summer morning sunny, soft, and still. But through the air there runs a thrill of coming stir. King

John has slept at Duncroft Hall, and all the day before the little town of Staines has echoed to the clang of

armed men, and the clatter of great horses over its rough stones, and the shouts of captains, and the grim

oaths and surly jests of bearded bowmen, billmen, pikemen, and strangespeaking foreign spearmen.

Gaycloaked companies of knights and squires have ridden in, all travel stained and dusty. And all the

evening long the timid townsmen's doors have had to be quick opened to let in rough groups of soldiers, for

whom there must be found both board and lodging, and the best of both, or woe betide the house and all

within; for the sword is judge and jury, plaintiff and executioner, in these tempestuous times, and pays for

what it takes by sparing those from whom it takes it, if it pleases it to do so.

Round the campfire in the marketplace gather still more of the Barons' troops, and eat and drink deep, and

bellow forth roystering drinking songs, and gamble and quarrel as the evening grows and deepens into night.

The firelight sheds quaint shadows on their piledup arms and on their uncouth forms. The children of the

town steal round to watch them, wondering; and brawny country wenches, laughing, draw near to bandy ale

house jest and jibe with the swaggering troopers, so unlike the village swains, who, now despised, stand apart

behind, with vacant grins upon their broad, peering faces. And out from the fields around, glitter the faint

lights of more distant camps, as here some great lord's followers lie mustered, and there false John's French

And so, with sentinel in each dark street, and twinkling watchfires on each height around, the night has

worn away, and over this fair valley of old Thame has broken the morning of the great day that is to close so

Ever since grey dawn, in the lower of the two islands, just above where we are standing, there has been great

clamour, and the sound of many workmen. The great pavilion brought there yester eve is being raised, and

carpenters are busy nailing tiers of seats, while `prentices from London town are there with manycoloured

And now, lo! down upon the road that winds along the river's bank from Staines there come towards us,

laughing and talking together in deep guttural bass, a halfascore of stalwart halbertmen Barons' men,

these and halt at a hundred yards or so above us, on the other bank, and lean upon their arms, and wait.

And so, from hour to hour, march up along the road ever fresh groups and bands of armed men, their casques

and breastplates flashing back the long low lines of morning sunlight, until, as far as eye can reach, the way

seems thick with glittering steel and prancing steeds. And shouting horsemen are galloping from group to

group, and little banners are fluttering lazily in the warm breeze, and every now and then there is a deeper stir

as the ranks make way on either side, and some great Baron on his warhorse, with his guard of squires

around him, passes along to take his station at the head of his serfs and vassals.

And up the slope of Cooper's Hill, just opposite, are gathered the wondering rustics and curious townsfolk,

who have run from Staines, and none are quite sure what the bustle is about, but each one has a different

version of the great event that they have come to see; and some say that much good to all the people will

come from this day's work; but the old men shake their heads, for they have heard such tales before.

And all the river down to Staines is dotted with small craft and boats and tiny coracles which last are

growing out of favour now, and are used only by the poorer folk. Over the rapids, where in after years trim

Bell Weir lock will stand, they have been forced or dragged by their sturdy rowers, and now are crowding up

as near as they dare come to the great covered barges, which lie in readiness to bear King John to where the

It is noon, and we and all the people have been waiting patient for many an hour, and the rumour has run

round that slippery John has again escaped from the Barons' grasp, and has stolen away from Duncroft Hall

with his mercenaries at his heels, and will soon be doing other work than signing charters for his people's

Not so! This time the grip upon him has been one of iron, and he has slid and wriggled in vain. Far down the

road a little cloud of dust has risen, and draws nearer and grows larger, and the pattering of many hoofs

grows louder, and in and out between the scattered groups of drawnup men, there pushes on its way a

brilliant cavalcade of gaydressed lords and knights. And front and rear, and either flank, there ride the

He rides to where the barges lie in readiness, and the great Barons step forth from their ranks to meet him. He

greets them with a smile and laugh, and pleasant honeyed words, as though it were some feast in his honour

to which he had been invited. But as he rises to dismount, he casts one hurried glance from his own French

mercenaries drawn up in the rear to the grim ranks of the Barons' men that hem him in.

Is it too late? One fierce blow at the unsuspecting horseman at his side, one cry to his French troops, one

desperate charge upon the unready lines before him, and these rebellious Barons might rue the day they dared

to thwart his plans! A bolder hand might have turned the game even at that point. Had it been a Richard

there! the cup of liberty might have been dashed from England's lips, and the taste of freedom held back for a

But the heart of King John sinks before the stern faces of the English fighting men, and the arm of King John

drops back on to his rein, and he dismounts and takes his seat in the foremost barge. And the Barons follow

Slowly the heavy, brightdecked barges leave the shore of Runningmede. Slowly against the swift current

they work their ponderous way, till, with a low grumble, they grate against the bank of the little island that

from this day will bear the name of Magna Charta Island. And King John has stepped upon the shore, and we

wait in breathless silence till a great shout cleaves the air, and the great cornerstone in England's temple of

I WAS sitting on the bank, conjuring up this scene to myself, when George remarked that when I was quite

rested, perhaps I would not mind helping to wash up; and, thus recalled from the days of the glorious past to

the prosaic present, with all its misery and sin, I slid down into the boat and cleaned out the fryingpan with a

stick of wood and a tuft of grass, polishing it up finally with George's wet shirt.

We went over to Magna Charta Island, and had a look at the stone which stands in the cottage there and on

which the great Charter is said to have been signed; though, as to whether it really was signed there, or, as

some say, on the other bank at "Runningmede," I decline to commit myself. As far as my own personal

opinion goes, however, I am inclined to give weight to the popular island theory. Certainly, had I been one of

the Barons, at the time, I should have strongly urged upon my comrades the advisability of our getting such a

slippery customer as King John on to the island, where there was less chance of surprises and tricks.

There are the ruins of an old priory in the grounds of Ankerwyke House, which is close to Picnic Point, and it

was round about the grounds of this old priory that Henry VIII. is said to have waited for and met Anne

Boleyn. He also used to meet her at Hever Castle in Kent, and also somewhere near St. Albans. It must have

been difficult for the people of England in those days to have found a spot where these thoughtless young

Have you ever been in a house where there are a couple courting? It is most trying. You think you will go and

sit in the drawingroom, and you march off there. As you open the door, you hear a noise as if somebody had

suddenly recollected something, and, when you get in, Emily is over by the window, full of interest in the

opposite side of the road, and your friend, John Edward, is at the other end of the room with his whole soul

"Oh! didn't you?" says Emily, coldly, in a tone which implies that she does not believe you.

John Edward says, "Oh!" he hadn't noticed it; and Emily says that papa does not like the gas lit in the

You tell them one or two items of news, and give them your views and opinions on the Irish question; but this

does not appear to interest them. All they remark on any subject is, "Oh!" "Is it?" "Did he?" "Yes," and "You

don't say so!" And, after ten minutes of such style of conversation, you edge up to the door, and slip out, and

are surprised to find that the door immediately closes behind you, and shuts itself, without your having

Half an hour later, you think you will try a pipe in the conservatory. The only chair in the place is occupied

by Emily; and John Edward, if the language of clothes can be relied upon, has evidently been sitting on the

floor. They do not speak, but they give you a look that says all that can be said in a civilised community; and

You are afraid to poke your nose into any room in the house now; so, after walking up and down the stairs for

a while, you go and sit in your own bedroom. This becomes uninteresting, however, after a time, and so you

put on your hat and stroll out into the garden. You walk down the path, and as you pass the summerhouse

you glance in, and there are those two young idiots, huddled up into one corner of it; and they see you, and

are evidently under the idea that, for some wicked purpose of your own, you are following them about.

"Why don't they have a special room for this sort of thing, and make people keep to it?" you mutter; and you

It must have been much like this when that foolish boy Henry VIII. was courting his little Anne. People in

Buckinghamshire would have come upon them unexpectedly when they were mooning round Windsor and

Wraysbury, and have exclaimed, "Oh! you here!" and Henry would have blushed and said, "Yes; he'd just

come over to see a man;" and Anne would have said, "Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Isn't it funny? I've just met

Then those people would have gone away and said to themselves: "Oh! we'd better get out of here while this

And they would go to Kent, and the first thing they would see in Kent, when they got there, would be Henry

"Oh, drat this!" they would have said. "Here, let's go away. I can't stand any more of it. Let's go to St. Albans

And when they reached St. Albans, there would be that wretched couple, kissing under the Abbey walls.

From Picnic Point to Old Windsor Lock is a delightful bit of the river. A shady road, dotted here and there

with dainty little cottages, runs by the bank up to the "Bells of Ouseley," a picturesque inn, as most up river

inns are, and a place where a very good glass of ale may be drunk so Harris says; and on a matter of this

kind you can take Harris's word. Old Windsor is a famous spot in its way. Edward the Confessor had a palace

here, and here the great Earl Godwin was proved guilty by the justice of that age of having encompassed the

death of the King's brother. Earl Godwin broke a piece of bread and held it in his hand.

Then he put the bread into his mouth and swallowed it, and it choked him, and he died.

After you pass Old Windsor, the river is somewhat uninteresting, and does not become itself again until you

are nearing Boveney. George and I towed up past the Home Park, which stretches along the right bank from

Albert to Victoria Bridge; and as we were passing Datchet, George asked me if I remembered our first trip up

the river, and when we landed at Datchet at ten o'clock at night, and wanted to go to bed.

It was the Saturday before the August Bank Holiday. We were tired and hungry, we same three, and when we

got to Datchet we took out the hamper, the two bags, and the rugs and coats, and such like things, and started

off to look for diggings. We passed a very pretty little hotel, with clematis and creeper over the porch; but

there was no honeysuckle about it, and, for some reason or other, I had got my mind fixed on honeysuckle,

"Oh, don't let's go in there! Let's go on a bit further, and see if there isn't one with honeysuckle over it."

So we went on till we came to another hotel. That was a very nice hotel, too, and it had honeysuckle on it,

round at the side; but Harris did not like the look of a man who was leaning against the front door. He said he

didn't look a nice man at all, and he wore ugly boots: so we went on further. We went a goodish way without

coming across any more hotels, and then we met a man, and asked him to direct us to a few.

"Why, you are coming away from them. You must turn right round and go back, and then you will come to

"Well, then," he said, "there's the Manor House, just opposite. Have you tried that?"

Harris replied that we did not want to go there didn't like the looks of a man who was stopping there

"Well, I don't know what you'll do, I'm sure," said our informant; "because they are the only two inns in the

Then George spoke up. He said Harris and I could get an hotel built for us, if we liked, and have some people

The greatest minds never realise their ideals in any matter; and Harris and I sighed over the hollowness of all

"Oh, well, never mind," said George, "two will do. Two of us can sleep in one bed, can't we?" he continued,

Harris said, "Oh, yes;" he thought George and I could sleep in one bed very easily.

"Very sorry, sir," again repeated the landlord: "but we really haven't got a bed vacant in the whole house. In

But Harris, who is an old traveller, rose to the occasion, and, laughing cheerily, said:

"Oh, well, we can't help it. We must rough it. You must give us a shakedown in the billiardroom."

"Very sorry, sir. Three gentlemen sleeping on the billiardtable already, and two in the coffeeroom. Can't

We picked up our things, and went over to the Manor House. It was a pretty little place. I said I thought I

should like it better than the other house; and Harris said, "Oh, yes," it would be all right, and we needn't look

at the man with the red hair; besides, the poor fellow couldn't help having red hair.

The people at the Manor House did not wait to hear us talk. The landlady met us on the doorstep with the

greeting that we were the fourteenth party she had turned away within the last hour and a half. As for our

meek suggestions of stables, billiardroom, or coalcellars, she laughed them all to scorn: all these nooks had

Did she know of any place in the whole village where we could get shelter for the night?

"Well, if we didn't mind roughing it she did not recommend it, mind but there was a little beershop half a

We waited to hear no more; we caught up the hamper and the bags, and the coats and rugs, and parcels, and

ran. The distance seemed more like a mile than half a mile, but we reached the place at last, and rushed,

The people at the beershop were rude. They merely laughed at us. There were only three beds in the whole

house, and they had seven single gentlemen and two married couples sleeping there already. A kindhearted

bargeman, however, who happened to be in the taproom, thought we might try the grocer's, next door to the

The grocer's was full. An old woman we met in the shop then kindly took us along with her for a quarter of a

This old woman walked very slowly, and we were twenty minutes getting to her lady friend's. She enlivened

the journey by describing to us, as we trailed along, the various pains she had in her back.

Her lady friend's rooms were let. From there we were recommended to No. 27. No. 27 was full, and sent us to

Then we went back into the high road, and Harris sat down on the hamper and said he would go no further.

He said it seemed a quiet spot, and he would like to die there. He requested George and me to kiss his mother

At that moment an angel came by in the disguise of a small boy (and I cannot think of any more effective

disguise an angel could have assumed), with a can of beer in one hand, and in the other something at the end

of a string, which he let down on to every flat stone he came across, and then pulled up again, this producing

We asked this heavenly messenger (as we discovered him afterwards to be) if he knew of any lonely house,

whose occupants were few and feeble (old ladies or paralysed gentlemen preferred), who could be easily

frightened into giving up their beds for the night to three desperate men; or, if not this, could he recommend

us to an empty pigstye, or a disused limekiln, or anything of that sort. He did not know of any such place at

least, not one handy; but he said that, if we liked to come with him, his mother had a room to spare, and could

We fell upon his neck there in the moonlight and blessed him, and it would have made a very beautiful

picture if the boy himself had not been so overpowered by our emotion as to be unable to sustain himself

under it, and sunk to the ground, letting us all down on top of him. Harris was so overcome with joy that he

fainted, and had to seize the boy's beercan and half empty it before he could recover consciousness, and then

It was a little fourroomed cottage where the boy lived, and his mother good soul! gave us hot bacon for

supper, and we ate it all five pounds and a jam tart afterwards, and two pots of tea, and then we went to

bed. There were two beds in the room; one was a 2ft. 6in. truckle bed, and George and I slept in that, and kept

in by tying ourselves together with a sheet; and the other was the little boy's bed, and Harris had that all to

himself, and we found him, in the morning, with two feet of bare leg sticking out at the bottom, and George

We were not so uppish about what sort of hotel we would have, next time we went to Datchet.

To return to our present trip: nothing exciting happened, and we tugged steadily on to a little below Monkey

Island, where we drew up and lunched. We tackled the cold beef for lunch, and then we found that we had

forgotten to bring any mustard. I don't think I ever in my life, before or since, felt I wanted mustard as badly

as I felt I wanted it then. I don't care for mustard as a rule, and it is very seldom that I take it at all, but I

I don't know how many worlds there may be in the universe, but anyone who had brought me a spoonful of

mustard at that precise moment could have had them all. I grow reckless like that when I want a thing and

Harris said he would have given worlds for mustard too. It would have been a good thing for anybody who

had come up to that spot with a can of mustard, then: he would have been set up in worlds for the rest of his

But there! I daresay both Harris and I would have tried to back out of the bargain after we had got the

mustard. One makes these extravagant offers in moments of excitement, but, of course, when one comes to

think of it, one sees how absurdly out of proportion they are with the value of the required article. I heard a

man, going up a mountain in Switzerland, once say he would give worlds for a glass of beer, and, when he

came to a little shanty where they kept it, he kicked up a most fearful row because they charged him five

francs for a bottle of Bass. He said it was a scandalous imposition, and he wrote to the TIMES about it.

It cast a gloom over the boat, there being no mustard. We ate our beef in silence. Existence seemed hollow

and uninteresting. We thought of the happy days of childhood, and sighed. We brightened up a bit, however,

over the appletart, and, when George drew out a tin of pine apple from the bottom of the hamper, and

rolled it into the middle of the boat, we felt that life was worth living after all.

We are very fond of pineapple, all three of us. We looked at the picture on the tin; we thought of the juice.

Then we looked for the knife to open the tin with. We turned out everything in the hamper. We turned out the

bags. We pulled up the boards at the bottom of the boat. We took everything out on to the bank and shook it.

Then Harris tried to open the tin with a pocketknife, and broke the knife and cut himself badly; and George

tried a pair of scissors, and the scissors flew up, and nearly put his eye out. While they were dressing their

wounds, I tried to make a hole in the thing with the spiky end of the hitcher, and the hitcher slipped and

jerked me out between the boat and the bank into two feet of muddy water, and the tin rolled over, uninjured,

Then we all got mad. We took that tin out on the bank, and Harris went up into a field and got a big sharp

stone, and I went back into the boat and brought out the mast, and George held the tin and Harris held the

sharp end of his stone against the top of it, and I took the mast and poised it high up in the air, and gathered

It was George's straw hat that saved his life that day. He keeps that hat now (what is left of it), and, of a

winter's evening, when the pipes are lit and the boys are telling stretchers about the dangers they have passed

through, George brings it down and shows it round, and the stirring tale is told anew, with fresh

After that, I took the tin off myself, and hammered at it with the mast till I was worn out and sick at heart,

We beat it out flat; we beat it back square; we battered it into every form known to geometry but we could

not make a hole in it. Then George went at it, and knocked it into a shape, so strange, so weird, so unearthly

in its wild hideousness, that he got frightened and threw away the mast. Then we all three sat round it on the

There was one great dent across the top that had the appearance of a mocking grin, and it drove us furious, so

that Harris rushed at the thing, and caught it up, and flung it far into the middle of the river, and as it sank we

hurled our curses at it, and we got into the boat and rowed away from the spot, and never paused till we

Maidenhead itself is too snobby to be pleasant. It is the haunt of the river swell and his overdressed female

companion. It is the town of showy hotels, patronised chiefly by dudes and ballet girls. It is the witch's

kitchen from which go forth those demons of the river steam launches. The LONDON JOURNAL duke

always has his "little place" at Maidenhead; and the heroine of the threevolume novel always dines there

We went through Maidenhead quickly, and then eased up, and took leisurely that grand reach beyond

Boulter's and Cookham locks. Clieveden Woods still wore their dainty dress of spring, and rose up, from the

water's edge, in one long harmony of blended shades of fairy green. In its unbroken loveliness this is,

perhaps, the sweetest stretch of all the river, and lingeringly we slowly drew our little boat away from its deep

We pulled up in the backwater, just below Cookham, and had tea; and, when we were through the lock, it was

evening. A stiffish breeze had sprung up in our favour, for a wonder; for, as a rule on the river, the wind is

always dead against you whatever way you go. It is against you in the morning, when you start for a day's

trip, and you pull a long distance, thinking how easy it will be to come back with the sail. Then, after tea, the

When you forget to take the sail at all, then the wind is consistently in your favour both ways. But there! this

world is only a probation, and man was born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.

This evening, however, they had evidently made a mistake, and had put the wind round at our back instead of

in our face. We kept very quiet about it, and got the sail up quickly before they found it out, and then we

spread ourselves about the boat in thoughtful attitudes, and the sail bellied out, and strained, and grumbled at

There is no more thrilling sensation I know of than sailing. It comes as near to flying as man has got to yet

except in dreams. The wings of the rushing wind seem to be bearing you onward, you know not where. You

are no longer the slow, plodding, puny thing of clay, creeping tortuously upon the ground; you are a part of

Nature! Your heart is throbbing against hers! Her glorious arms are round you, raising you up against her

heart! Your spirit is at one with hers; your limbs grow light! The voices of the air are singing to you. The

earth seems far away and little; and the clouds, so close above your head, are brothers, and you stretch your

We had the river to ourselves, except that, far in the distance, we could see a fishingpunt, moored in

midstream, on which three fishermen sat; and we skimmed over the water, and passed the wooded banks,

As we drew nearer, we could see that the three men fishing seemed old and solemnlooking men. They sat

on three chairs in the punt, and watched intently their lines. And the red sunset threw a mystic light upon the

waters, and tinged with fire the towering woods, and made a golden glory of the piledup clouds. It was an

hour of deep enchantment, of ecstatic hope and longing. The little sail stood out against the purple sky, the

gloaming lay around us, wrapping the world in rainbow shadows; and, behind us, crept the night.

We seemed like knights of some old legend, sailing across some mystic lake into the unknown realm of

We did not go into the realm of twilight; we went slap into that punt, where those three old men were fishing.

We did not know what had happened at first, because the sail shut out the view, but from the nature of the

language that rose up upon the evening air, we gathered that we had come into the neighbourhood of human

Harris let the sail down, and then we saw what had happened. We had knocked those three old gentlemen off

their chairs into a general heap at the bottom of the boat, and they were now slowly and painfully sorting

themselves out from each other, and picking fish off themselves; and as they worked, they cursed us not

with a common cursory curse, but with long, carefullythoughtout, comprehensive curses, that embraced

the whole of our career, and went away into the distant future, and included all our relations, and covered

Harris told them they ought to be grateful for a little excitement, sitting there fishing all day, and he also said

George said he would steer, after that. He said a mind like mine ought not to be expected to give itself away

in steering boats better let a mere commonplace human being see after that boat, before we jolly well all

And at Marlow we left the boat by the bridge, and went and put up for the night at the "Crown."

MARLOW is one of the pleasantest river centres I know of. It is a bustling, lively little town; not very

picturesque on the whole, it is true, but there are many quaint nooks and corners to be found in it,

nevertheless standing arches in the shattered bridge of Time, over which our fancy travels back to the days

when Marlow Manor owned Saxon Algar for its lord, ere conquering William seized it to give to Queen

Matilda, ere it passed to the Earls of Warwick or to worldlywise Lord Paget, the councillor of four

There is lovely country round about it, too, if, after boating, you are fond of a walk, while the river itself is at

its best here. Down to Cookham, past the Quarry Woods and the meadows, is a lovely reach. Dear old Quarry

Woods! with your narrow, climbing paths, and little winding glades, how scented to this hour you seem with

memories of sunny summer days! How haunted are your shadowy vistas with the ghosts of laughing faces!

From Marlow up to Sonning is even fairer yet. Grand old Bisham Abbey, whose stone walls have rung to the

shouts of the Knights Templars, and which, at one time, was the home of Anne of Cleves and at another of

Queen Elizabeth, is passed on the right bank just half a mile above Marlow Bridge. Bisham Abbey is rich in

melodramatic properties. It contains a tapestry bedchamber, and a secret room hid high up in the thick walls.

The ghost of the Lady Holy, who beat her little boy to death, still walks there at night, trying to wash its

Warwick, the kingmaker, rests there, careless now about such trivial things as earthly kings and earthly

kingdoms; and Salisbury, who did good service at Poitiers. Just before you come to the abbey, and right on

the river's bank, is Bisham Church, and, perhaps, if any tombs are worth inspecting, they are the tombs and

monuments in Bisham Church. It was while floating in his boat under the Bisham beeches that Shelley, who

was then living at Marlow (you can see his house now, in West street), composed THE REVOLT OF

By Hurley Weir, a little higher up, I have often thought that I could stay a month without having sufficient

time to drink in all the beauty of the scene. The village of Hurley, five minutes' walk from the lock, is as old a

little spot as there is on the river, dating, as it does, to quote the quaint phraseology of those dim days, "from

the times of King Sebert and King Offa." Just past the weir (going up) is Danes' Field, where the invading

Danes once encamped, during their march to Gloucestershire; and a little further still, nestling by a sweet

The famous Medmenham monks, or "Hell Fire Club," as they were commonly called, and of whom the

notorious Wilkes was a member, were a fraternity whose motto was "Do as you please," and that invitation

still stands over the ruined doorway of the abbey. Many years before this bogus abbey, with its congregation

of irreverent jesters, was founded, there stood upon this same spot a monastery of a sterner kind, whose

monks were of a somewhat different type to the revellers that were to follow them, five hundred years

The Cistercian monks, whose abbey stood there in the thirteenth century, wore no clothes but rough tunics

and cowls, and ate no flesh, nor fish, nor eggs. They lay upon straw, and they rose at midnight to mass. They

spent the day in labour, reading, and prayer; and over all their lives there fell a silence as of death, for no one

A grim fraternity, passing grim lives in that sweet spot, that God had made so bright! Strange that Nature's

voices all around them the soft singing of the waters, the whisperings of the river grass, the music of the

rushing wind should not have taught them a truer meaning of life than this. They listened there, through the

long days, in silence, waiting for a voice from heaven; and all day long and through the solemn night it spoke

From Medmenham to sweet Hambledon Lock the river is full of peaceful beauty, but, after it passes

Greenlands, the rather uninteresting looking river residence of my newsagent a quiet unassuming old

gentleman, who may often be met with about these regions, during the summer months, sculling himself

along in easy vigorous style, or chatting genially to some old lockkeeper, as he passes through until well

We got up tolerably early on the Monday morning at Marlow, and went for a bathe before breakfast; and,

coming back, Montmorency made an awful ass of himself. The only subject on which Montmorency and I

have any serious difference of opinion is cats. I like cats; Montmorency does not.

When I meet a cat, I say, "Poor Pussy!" and stop down and tickle the side of its head; and the cat sticks up its

tail in a rigid, castiron manner, arches its back, and wipes its nose up against my trousers; and all is

gentleness and peace. When Montmorency meets a cat, the whole street knows about it; and there is enough

bad language wasted in ten seconds to last an ordinarily respectable man all his life, with care.

I do not blame the dog (contenting myself, as a rule, with merely clouting his head or throwing stones at

him), because I take it that it is his nature. Foxterriers are born with about four times as much original sin in

them as other dogs are, and it will take years and years of patient effort on the part of us Christians to bring

I remember being in the lobby of the Haymarket Stores one day, and all round about me were dogs, waiting

for the return of their owners, who were shopping inside. There were a mastiff, and one or two collies, and a

St. Bernard, a few retrievers and Newfoundlands, a boarhound, a French poodle, with plenty of hair round

its head, but mangy about the middle; a bulldog, a few Lowther Arcade sort of animals, about the size of

There they sat, patient, good, and thoughtful. A solemn peacefulness seemed to reign in that lobby. An air of

Then a sweet young lady entered, leading a meeklooking little fox terrier, and left him, chained up there,

between the bulldog and the poodle. He sat and looked about him for a minute. Then he cast up his eyes to

the ceiling, and seemed, judging from his expression, to be thinking of his mother. Then he yawned. Then he

He looked at the bulldog, sleeping dreamlessly on his right. He looked at the poodle, erect and haughty, on

his left. Then, without a word of warning, without the shadow of a provocation, he bit that poodle's near

The result of his first experiment seemed highly satisfactory to him, and he determined to go on and make

things lively all round. He sprang over the poodle and vigorously attacked a collie, and the collie woke up,

and immediately commenced a fierce and noisy contest with the poodle. Then Foxey came back to his own

place, and caught the bulldog by the ear, and tried to throw him away; and the bulldog, a curiously

impartial animal, went for everything he could reach, including the hallporter, which gave that dear little

terrier the opportunity to enjoy an uninterrupted fight of his own with an equally willing Yorkshire tyke.

Anyone who knows canine nature need hardly, be told that, by this time, all the other dogs in the place were

fighting as if their hearths and homes depended on the fray. The big dogs fought each other indiscriminately;

and the little dogs fought among themselves, and filled up their spare time by biting the legs of the big dogs.

The whole lobby was a perfect pandemonium, and the din was terrific. A crowd assembled outside in the

Haymarket, and asked if it was a vestry meeting; or, if not, who was being murdered, and why? Men came

with poles and ropes, and tried to separate the dogs, and the police were sent for.

And in the midst of the riot that sweet young lady returned, and snatched up that sweet little dog of hers (he

had laid the tyke up for a month, and had on the expression, now, of a newborn lamb) into her arms, and

kissed him, and asked him if he was killed, and what those great nasty brutes of dogs had been doing to him;

and he nestled up against her, and gazed up into her face with a look that seemed to say: "Oh, I'm so glad

She said that the people at the Stores had no right to allow great savage things like those other dogs to be put

with respectable people's dogs, and that she had a great mind to summon somebody.

Such is the nature of foxterriers; and, therefore, I do not blame Montmorency for his tendency to row with

We were, as I have said, returning from a dip, and halfway up the High Street a cat darted out from one of

the houses in front of us, and began to trot across the road. Montmorency gave a cry of joy the cry of a

stern warrior who sees his enemy given over to his hands the sort of cry Cromwell might have uttered when

His victim was a large black Tom. I never saw a larger cat, nor a more disreputablelooking cat. It had lost

half its tail, one of its ears, and a fairly appreciable proportion of its nose. It was a long, sinewy looking

Montmorency went for that poor cat at the rate of twenty miles an hour; but the cat did not hurry up did not

seem to have grasped the idea that its life was in danger. It trotted quietly on until its wouldbe assassin was

within a yard of it, and then it turned round and sat down in the middle of the road, and looked at

Montmorency does not lack pluck; but there was something about the look of that cat that might have chilled

Neither spoke; but the conversation that one could imagine was clearly as follows:

MONTMORENCY (BACKING DOWN THE HIGH STREET): "Oh, no not at all certainly don't you

trouble. I I am afraid I've made a mistake. I thought I knew you. Sorry I disturbed you."

MONTMORENCY (STILL BACKING): "Not at all, thanks not at all very kind of you. Good morning."

Then the cat rose, and continued his trot; and Montmorency, fitting what he calls his tail carefully into its

To this day, if you say the word "Cats!" to Montmorency, he will visibly shrink and look up piteously at you,

We did our marketing after breakfast, and revictualled the boat for three days. George said we ought to take

vegetables that it was unhealthy not to eat vegetables. He said they were easy enough to cook, and that he

would see to that; so we got ten pounds of potatoes, a bushel of peas, and a few cabbages. We got a beefsteak

pie, a couple of gooseberry tarts, and a leg of mutton from the hotel; and fruit, and cakes, and bread and

butter, and jam, and bacon and eggs, and other things we foraged round about the town for.

Our departure from Marlow I regard as one of our greatest successes. It was dignified and impressive,

without being ostentatious. We had insisted at all the shops we had been to that the things should be sent with

us then and there. None of your "Yes, sir, I will send them off at once: the boy will be down there before you

are, sir!" and then fooling about on the landingstage, and going back to the shop twice to have a row about

We went to a good many shops, adopting this principle at each one; and the consequence was that, by the

time we had finished, we had as fine a collection of boys with baskets following us around as heart could

desire; and our final march down the middle of the High Street, to the river, must have been as imposing a

Montmorency, carrying a stick. Two disreputablelooking curs, friends of Montmorency's. George, carrying

coats and rugs, and smoking a short pipe. Harris, trying to walk with easy grace, while carrying a bulgedout

Gladstone bag in one hand and a bottle of limejuice in the other. Greengrocer's boy and baker's boy, with

baskets. Boots from the hotel, carrying hamper. Confectioner's boy, with basket. Grocer's boy, with basket.

Longhaired dog. Cheesemonger's boy, with basket. Odd man carrying a bag. Bosom companion of odd man,

with his hands in his pockets, smoking a short clay. Fruiterer's boy, with basket. Myself, carrying three hats

and a pair of boots, and trying to look as if I didn't know it. Six small boys, and four stray dogs.

We had a good deal of trouble with steam launches that morning. It was just before the Henley week, and

they were going up in large numbers; some by themselves, some towing houseboats. I do hate steam

launches: I suppose every rowing man does. I never see a steam launch but I feel I should like to lure it to a

lonely part of the river, and there, in the silence and the solitude, strangle it.

There is a blatant bumptiousness about a steam launch that has the knack of rousing every evil instinct in my

nature, and I yearn for the good old days, when you could go about and tell people what you thought of them

with a hatchet and a bow and arrows. The expression on the face of the man who, with his hands in his

pockets, stands by the stern, smoking a cigar, is sufficient to excuse a breach of the peace by itself; and the

lordly whistle for you to get out of the way would, I am confident, ensure a verdict of "justifiable homicide"

They used to HAVE to whistle for us to get out of their way. If I may do so, without appearing boastful, I

think I can honestly say that our one small boat, during that week, caused more annoyance and delay and

aggravation to the steam launches that we came across than all the other craft on the river put together.

"Steam launch, coming!" one of us would cry out, on sighting the enemy in the distance; and, in an instant,

everything was got ready to receive her. I would take the lines, and Harris and George would sit down beside

me, all of us with our backs to the launch, and the boat would drift out quietly into midstream.

On would come the launch, whistling, and on we would go, drifting. At about a hundred yards off, she would

start whistling like mad, and the people would come and lean over the side, and roar at us; but we never heard

them! Harris would be telling us an anecdote about his mother, and George and I would not have missed a

Then that launch would give one final shriek of a whistle that would nearly burst the boiler, and she would

reverse her engines, and blow off steam, and swing round and get aground; everyone on board of it would

rush to the bow and yell at us, and the people on the bank would stand and shout to us, and all the other

passing boats would stop and join in, till the whole river for miles up and down was in a state of frantic

commotion. And then Harris would break off in the most interesting part of his narrative, and look up with

Upon which we would get nervous and confused, and not know how to get the boat out of the way, and the

"Pull your right you, you idiot! back with your left. No, not YOU the other one leave the lines alone,

Then they would lower a boat and come to our assistance; and, after quarter of an hour's effort, would get us

clean out of their way, so that they could go on; and we would thank them so much, and ask them to give us a

Another good way we discovered of irritating the aristocratic type of steam launch, was to mistake them for a

beanfeast, and ask them if they were Messrs. Cubit's lot or the Bermondsey Good Templars, and could they

Old ladies, not accustomed to the river, are always intensely nervous of steam launches. I remember going up

once from Staines to Windsor a stretch of water peculiarly rich in these mechanical monstrosities with a

party containing three ladies of this description. It was very exciting. At the first glimpse of every steam

launch that came in view, they insisted on landing and sitting down on the bank until it was out of sight

again. They said they were very sorry, but that they owed it to their families not to be foolhardy.

We found ourselves short of water at Hambledon Lock; so we took our jar and went up to the lockkeeper's

"Certainly," replied the old gentleman; "take as much as you want, and leave the rest."

"Thank you so much," murmured George, looking about him. "Where where do you keep it?"

"It's always in the same place my boy," was the stolid reply: "just behind you."

"Why, bless us, where's your eyes?" was the man's comment, as he twisted George round and pointed up and

"Oh!" exclaimed George, grasping the idea; "but we can't drink the river, you know!"

"No; but you can drink SOME of it," replied the old fellow. "It's what I've drunk for the last fifteen years."

George told him that his appearance, after the course, did not seem a sufficiently good advertisement for the

We got some from a cottage a little higher up. I daresay THAT was only river water, if we had known. But

we did not know, so it was all right. What the eye does not see, the stomach does not get upset over.

We tried river water once, later on in the season, but it was not a success. We were coming down stream, and

had pulled up to have tea in a backwater near Windsor. Our jar was empty, and it was a case of going without

our tea or taking water from the river. Harris was for chancing it. He said it must be all right if we boiled the

water. He said that the various germs of poison present in the water would be killed by the boiling. So we

filled our kettle with Thames backwater, and boiled it; and very careful we were to see that it did boil.

We had made the tea, and were just settling down comfortably to drink it, when George, with his cup

Harris and I followed his gaze, and saw, coming down towards us on the sluggish current, a dog. It was one

of the quietest and peacefullest dogs I have ever seen. I never met a dog who seemed more contented more

easy in its mind. It was floating dreamily on its back, with its four legs stuck up straight into the air. It was

what I should call a fullbodied dog, with a welldeveloped chest. On he came, serene, dignified, and calm,

until he was abreast of our boat, and there, among the rushes, he eased up, and settled down cosily for the

George said he didn't want any tea, and emptied his cup into the water. Harris did not feel thirsty, either, and

He said: "Oh, no;" he thought I had a very good chance indeed of escaping it. Anyhow, I should know in

We went up the backwater to Wargrave. It is a short cut, leading out of the righthand bank about half a mile

above Marsh Lock, and is well worth taking, being a pretty, shady little piece of stream, besides saving nearly

Of course, its entrance is studded with posts and chains, and surrounded with notice boards, menacing all

kinds of torture, imprisonment, and death to everyone who dares set scull upon its waters I wonder some of

these riparian boors don't claim the air of the river and threaten everyone with forty shillings fine who

breathes it but the posts and chains a little skill will easily avoid; and as for the boards, you might, if you

have five minutes to spare, and there is nobody about, take one or two of them down and throw them into the

Halfway up the backwater, we got out and lunched; and it was during this lunch that George and I received

Harris received a shock, too; but I do not think Harris's shock could have been anything like so bad as the

You see, it was in this way: we were sitting in a meadow, about ten yards from the water's edge, and we had

just settled down comfortably to feed. Harris had the beefsteak pie between his knees, and was carving it, and

"Have you got a spoon there?" says Harris; "I want a spoon to help the gravy with."

The hamper was close behind us, and George and I both turned round to reach one out. We were not five

It was a wide, open field. There was not a tree or a bit of hedge for hundreds of yards. He could not have

tumbled into the river, because we were on the water side of him, and he would have had to climb over us to

"I suppose the truth of the matter is," suggested George, descending to the commonplace and practicable,

And then he added, with a touch of sadness in his voice: "I wish he hadn't been carving that pie."

With a sigh, we turned our eyes once more towards the spot where Harris and the pie had last been seen on

earth; and there, as our blood froze in our veins and our hair stood up on end, we saw Harris's head and

nothing but his head sticking bolt upright among the tall grass, the face very red, and bearing upon it an

"Speak!" he cried, "and tell us whether you are alive or dead and where is the rest of you?"

"Oh, don't be a stupid ass!" said Harris's head. "I believe you did it on purpose."

And out of the middle of the earth, as it seemed to us, rose the pie very much mixed up and damaged; and,

He had been sitting, without knowing it, on the very verge of a small gully, the long grass hiding it from

He said he had never felt so surprised in all his life, as when he first felt himself going, without being able to

conjecture in the slightest what had happened. He thought at first that the end of the world had come.

Harris believes to this day that George and I planned it all beforehand. Thus does unjust suspicion follow

WE caught a breeze, after lunch, which took us gently up past Wargrave and Shiplake. Mellowed in the

drowsy sunlight of a summer's afternoon, Wargrave, nestling where the river bends, makes a sweet old

The "George and Dragon" at Wargrave boasts a sign, painted on the one side by Leslie, R.A., and on the

other by Hodgson of that ilk. Leslie has depicted the fight; Hodgson has imagined the scene, "After the Fight"

Day, the author of SANDFORD AND MERTON, lived and more credit to the place still was killed at

Wargrave. In the church is a memorial to Mrs. Sarah Hill, who bequeathed 1 pound annually, to be divided at

Easter, between two boys and two girls who "have never been undutiful to their parents; who have never been

known to swear or to tell untruths, to steal, or to break windows." Fancy giving up all that for five shillings a

It is rumoured in the town that once, many years ago, a boy appeared who really never had done these things

or at all events, which was all that was required or could be expected, had never been known to do them

and thus won the crown of glory. He was exhibited for three weeks afterwards in the Town Hall, under a

What has become of the money since no one knows. They say it is always handed over to the nearest

Shiplake is a pretty village, but it cannot be seen from the river, being upon the hill. Tennyson was married in

The river up to Sonning winds in and out through many islands, and is very placid, hushed, and lonely. Few

folk, except at twilight, a pair or two of rustic lovers, walk along its banks. `Arry and Lord Fitznoodle have

been left behind at Henley, and dismal, dirty Reading is not yet reached. It is a part of the river in which to

dream of bygone days, and vanished forms and faces, and things that might have been, but are not, confound

We got out at Sonning, and went for a walk round the village. It is the most fairylike little nook on the

whole river. It is more like a stage village than one built of bricks and mortar. Every house is smothered in

roses, and now, in early June, they were bursting forth in clouds of dainty splendour. If you stop at Sonning,

put up at the "Bull," behind the church. It is a veritable picture of an old country inn, with green, square

courtyard in front, where, on seats beneath the trees, the old men group of an evening to drink their ale and

gossip over village politics; with low, quaint rooms and latticed windows, and awkward stairs and winding

We roamed about sweet Sonning for an hour or so, and then, it being too late to push on past Reading, we

decided to go back to one of the Shiplake islands, and put up there for the night. It was still early when we got

settled, and George said that, as we had plenty of time, it would be a splendid opportunity to try a good,

slapup supper. He said he would show us what could be done up the river in the way of cooking, and

suggested that, with the vegetables and the remains of the cold beef and general odds and ends, we should

It seemed a fascinating idea. George gathered wood and made a fire, and Harris and I started to peel the

potatoes. I should never have thought that peeling potatoes was such an undertaking. The job turned out to be

the biggest thing of its kind that I had ever been in. We began cheerfully, one might almost say skittishly, but

our lightheartedness was gone by the time the first potato was finished. The more we peeled, the more peel

there seemed to be left on; by the time we had got all the peel off and all the eyes out, there was no potato left

at least none worth speaking of. George came and had a look at it it was about the size of a peanut. He

So we scraped them, and that was harder work than peeling. They are such an extraordinary shape, potatoes

all bumps and warts and hollows. We worked steadily for fiveandtwenty minutes, and did four potatoes.

Then we struck. We said we should require the rest of the evening for scraping ourselves.

I never saw such a thing as potatoscraping for making a fellow in a mess. It seemed difficult to believe that

the potatoscrapings in which Harris and I stood, half smothered, could have come off four potatoes. It shows

George said it was absurd to have only four potatoes in an Irish stew, so we washed halfadozen or so more,

and put them in without peeling. We also put in a cabbage and about half a peck of peas. George stirred it all

up, and then he said that there seemed to be a lot of room to spare, so we overhauled both the hampers, and

picked out all the odds and ends and the remnants, and added them to the stew. There were half a pork pie

and a bit of cold boiled bacon left, and we put them in. Then George found half a tin of potted salmon, and he

He said that was the advantage of Irish stew: you got rid of such a lot of things. I fished out a couple of eggs

that had got cracked, and put those in. George said they would thicken the gravy.

I forget the other ingredients, but I know nothing was wasted; and I remember that, towards the end,

Montmorency, who had evinced great interest in the proceedings throughout, strolled away with an earnest

and thoughtful air, reappearing, a few minutes afterwards, with a dead water rat in his mouth, which he

evidently wished to present as his contribution to the dinner; whether in a sarcastic spirit, or with a genuine

We had a discussion as to whether the rat should go in or not. Harris said that he thought it would be all right,

mixed up with the other things, and that every little helped; but George stood up for precedent. He said he

had never heard of waterrats in Irish stew, and he would rather be on the safe side, and not try experiments.

"If you never try a new thing, how can you tell what it's like? It's men such as you that hamper the world's

It was a great success, that Irish stew. I don't think I ever enjoyed a meal more. There was something so fresh

and piquant about it. One's palate gets so tired of the old hackneyed things: here was a dish with a new

And it was nourishing, too. As George said, there was good stuff in it. The peas and potatoes might have been

a bit softer, but we all had good teeth, so that did not matter much: and as for the gravy, it was a poem a

We finished up with tea and cherry tart. Montmorency had a fight with the kettle during teatime, and came

Throughout the trip, he had manifested great curiosity concerning the kettle. He would sit and watch it, as it

boiled, with a puzzled expression, and would try and rouse it every now and then by growling at it. When it

began to splutter and steam, he regarded it as a challenge, and would want to fight it, only, at that precise

moment, some one would always dash up and bear off his prey before he could get at it.

Today he determined he would be beforehand. At the first sound the kettle made, he rose, growling, and

advanced towards it in a threatening attitude. It was only a little kettle, but it was full of pluck, and it up and

"Ah! would ye!" growled Montmorency, showing his teeth; "I'll teach ye to cheek a hardworking,

respectable dog; ye miserable, longnosed, dirty looking scoundrel, ye. Come on!"

Then, across the evening stillness, broke a bloodcurdling yelp, and Montmorency left the boat, and did a

constitutional three times round the island at the rate of thirtyfive miles an hour, stopping every now and

From that day Montmorency regarded the kettle with a mixture of awe, suspicion, and hate. Whenever he saw

it he would growl and back at a rapid rate, with his tail shut down, and the moment it was put upon the stove

he would promptly climb out of the boat, and sit on the bank, till the whole tea business was over.

George got out his banjo after supper, and wanted to play it, but Harris objected: he said he had got a

headache, and did not feel strong enough to stand it. George thought the music might do him good said

music often soothed the nerves and took away a headache; and he twanged two or three notes, just to show

George has never learned to play the banjo to this day. He has had too much allround discouragement to

meet. He tried on two or three evenings, while we were up the river, to get a little practice, but it was never a

success. Harris's language used to be enough to unnerve any man; added to which, Montmorency would sit

and howl steadily, right through the performance. It was not giving the man a fair chance.

"What's he want to howl like that for when I'm playing?" George would exclaim indignantly, while taking

"What do you want to play like that for when he is howling?" Harris would retort, catching the boot. "You let

him alone. He can't help howling. He's got a musical ear, and your playing MAKES him howl."

So George determined to postpone study of the banjo until he reached home. But he did not get much

opportunity even there. Mrs. P. used to come up and say she was very sorry for herself, she liked to hear

him but the lady upstairs was in a very delicate state, and the doctor was afraid it might injure the child.

Then George tried taking it out with him late at night, and practising round the square. But the inhabitants

complained to the police about it, and a watch was set for him one night, and he was captured. The evidence

against him was very clear, and he was bound over to keep the peace for six months.

He seemed to lose heart in the business after that. He did make one or two feeble efforts to take up the work

again when the six months had elapsed, but there was always the same coldness the same want of sympathy

on the part of the world to fight against; and, after awhile, he despaired altogether, and advertised the

instrument for sale at a great sacrifice "owner having no further use for same" and took to learning card

It must be disheartening work learning a musical instrument. You would think that Society, for its own sake,

would do all it could to assist a man to acquire the art of playing a musical instrument. But it doesn't!

I knew a young fellow once, who was studying to play the bagpipes, and you would be surprised at the

amount of opposition he had to contend with. Why, not even from the members of his own family did he

receive what you could call active encouragement. His father was dead against the business from the

My friend used to get up early in the morning to practise, but he had to give that plan up, because of his

sister. She was somewhat religiously inclined, and she said it seemed such an awful thing to begin the day

So he sat up at night instead, and played after the family had gone to bed, but that did not do, as it got the

house such a bad name. People, going home late, would stop outside to listen, and then put it about all over

the town, the next morning, that a fearful murder had been committed at Mr. Jefferson's the night before; and

would describe how they had heard the victim's shrieks and the brutal oaths and curses of the murderer,

So they let him practise in the daytime, in the backkitchen with all the doors shut; but his more successful

passages could generally be heard in the sittingroom, in spite of these precautions, and would affect his

She said it put her in mind of her poor father (he had been swallowed by a shark, poor man, while bathing off

Then they knocked up a little place for him at the bottom of the garden, about quarter of a mile from the

house, and made him take the machine down there when he wanted to work it; and sometimes a visitor would

come to the house who knew nothing of the matter, and they would forget to tell him all about it, and caution

him, and he would go out for a stroll round the garden and suddenly get within earshot of those bagpipes,

without being prepared for it, or knowing what it was. If he were a man of strong mind, it only gave him fits;

There is, it must be confessed, something very sad about the early efforts of an amateur in bagpipes. I have

felt that myself when listening to my young friend. They appear to be a trying instrument to perform upon.

You have to get enough breath for the whole tune before you start at least, so I gathered from watching

He would begin magnificently with a wild, full, cometothebattle sort of a note, that quite roused you. But

he would get more and more piano as he went on, and the last verse generally collapsed in the middle with a

Young Jefferson only learnt to play one tune on those bagpipes; but I never heard any complaints about the

insufficiency of his repertoire none whatever. This tune was "The Campbells are Coming, Hooray

Hooray!" so he said, though his father always held that it was "The Blue Bells of Scotland." Nobody seemed

Strangers were allowed three guesses, and most of them guessed a different tune each time.

Harris was disagreeable after supper, I think it must have been the stew that had upset him: he is not used to

high living, so George and I left him in the boat, and settled to go for a mouch round Henley. He said he

should have a glass of whisky and a pipe, and fix things up for the night. We were to shout when we returned,

"Not much fear of that while this stew's on," he grunted, as he pulled back to the island.

Henley was getting ready for the regatta, and was full of bustle. We met a goodish number of men we knew

about the town, and in their pleasant company the time slipped by somewhat quickly; so that it was nearly

eleven o'clock before we set off on our fourmile walk home as we had learned to call our little craft by

It was a dismal night, coldish, with a thin rain falling; and as we trudged through the dark, silent fields,

talking low to each other, and wondering if we were going right or not, we thought of the cosy boat, with the

bright light streaming through the tightdrawn canvas; of Harris and Montmorency, and the whisky, and

We conjured up the picture of ourselves inside, tired and a little hungry; of the gloomy river and the shapeless

trees; and, like a giant glowworm underneath them, our dear old boat, so snug and warm and cheerful. We

could see ourselves at supper there, pecking away at cold meat, and passing each other chunks of bread; we

could hear the cheery clatter of our knives, the laughing voices, filling all the space, and overflowing through

We struck the towpath at length, and that made us happy; because prior to this we had not been sure

whether we were walking towards the river or away from it, and when you are tired and want to go to bed

uncertainties like that worry you. We passed Skiplake as the clock was striking the quarter to twelve; and

"No," I replied, beginning to grow thoughtful too, "I don't. How many are there?"

We shouted when we came opposite the first island, but there was no response; so we went to the second, and

The case was becoming serious. it was now past midnight. The hotels at Skiplake and Henley would be

crammed; and we could not go round, knocking up cottagers and householders in the middle of the night, to

know if they let apartments! George suggested walking back to Henley and assaulting a policeman, and so

getting a night's lodging in the stationhouse. But then there was the thought, "Suppose he only hits us back

We could not pass the whole night fighting policemen. Besides, we did not want to overdo the thing and get

We despairingly tried what seemed in the darkness to be the fourth island, but met with no better success. The

rain was coming down fast now, and evidently meant to last. We were wet to the skin, and cold and

miserable. We began to wonder whether there were only four islands or more, or whether we were near the

islands at all, or whether we were anywhere within a mile of where we ought to be, or in the wrong part of the

river altogether; everything looked so strange and different in the darkness. We began to understand the

Just when we had given up all hope yes, I know that is always the time that things do happen in novels and

tales; but I can't help it. I resolved, when I began to write this book, that I would be strictly truthful in all

things; and so I will be, even if I have to employ hackneyed phrases for the purpose.

It WAS just when we had given up all hope, and I must therefore say so. Just when we had given up all hope,

then, I suddenly caught sight, a little way below us, of a strange, weird sort of glimmer flickering among the

trees on the opposite bank. For an instant I thought of ghosts: it was such a shadowy, mysterious light. The

next moment it flashed across me that it was our boat, and I sent up such a yell across the water that made the

We waited breathless for a minute, and then oh! divinest music of the darkness! we heard the answering

bark of Montmorency. We shouted back loud enough to wake the Seven Sleepers I never could understand

myself why it should take more noise to wake seven sleepers than one and, after what seemed an hour, but

what was really, I suppose, about five minutes, we saw the lighted boat creeping slowly over the blackness,

There was an unaccountable strangeness about Harris. It was something more than mere ordinary tiredness.

He pulled the boat against a part of the bank from which it was quite impossible for us to get into it, and

immediately went to sleep. It took us an immense amount of screaming and roaring to wake him up again and

Harris had a sad expression on him, so we noticed, when we got into the boat. He gave you the idea of a man

who had been through trouble. We asked him if anything had happened, and he said

It seemed we had moored close to a swan's nest, and, soon after George and I had gone, the female swan

came back, and kicked up a row about it. Harris had chivied her off, and she had gone away, and fetched up

her old man. Harris said he had had quite a fight with these two swans; but courage and skill had prevailed in

Halfanhour afterwards they returned with eighteen other swans! It must have been a fearful battle, so far as

we could understand Harris's account of it. The swans had tried to drag him and Montmorency out of the boat

and drown them; and he had defended himself like a hero for four hours, and had killed the lot, and they had

What were the real facts about these swans we never found out. We questioned Harris on the subject in the

morning, and he said, "What swans?" and seemed to think that George and I had been dreaming.

Oh, how delightful it was to be safe in the boat, after our trials and fears! We ate a hearty supper, George and

I, and we should have had some toddy after it, if we could have found the whisky, but we could not. We

examined Harris as to what he had done with it; but he did not seem to know what we meant by "whisky," or

what we were talking about at all. Montmorency looked as if he knew something, but said nothing.

I slept well that night, and should have slept better if it had not been for Harris. I have a vague recollection of

having been woke up at least a dozen times during the night by Harris wandering about the boat with the

lantern, looking for his clothes. He seemed to be worrying about his clothes all night.

Twice he routed up George and myself to see if we were lying on his trousers. George got quite wild the

"What the thunder do you want your trousers for, in the middle of the night?" he asked indignantly. "Why

I found him in trouble, the next time I awoke, because he could not find his socks; and my last hazy

remembrance is of being rolled over on my side, and of hearing Harris muttering something about its being

WE woke late the next morning, and, at Harris's earnest desire, partook of a plain breakfast, with "non

dainties." Then we cleaned up, and put everything straight (a continual labour, which was beginning to afford

me a pretty clear insight into a question that had often posed me namely, how a woman with the work of

only one house on her hands manages to pass away her time), and, at about ten, set out on what we had

We agreed that we would pull this morning, as a change from towing; and Harris thought the best

arrangement would be that George and I should scull, and he steer. I did not chime in with this idea at all; I

said I thought Harris would have been showing a more proper spirit if he had suggested that he and George

should work, and let me rest a bit. It seemed to me that I was doing more than my fair share of the work on

It always does seem to me that I am doing more work than I should do. It is not that I object to the work,

mind you; I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me: the idea of

You cannot give me too much work; to accumulate work has almost become a passion with me: my study is

so full of it now, that there is hardly an inch of room for any more. I shall have to throw out a wing soon.

And I am careful of my work, too. Why, some of the work that I have by me now has been in my possession

for years and years, and there isn't a fingermark on it. I take a great pride in my work; I take it down now

and then and dust it. No man keeps his work in a better state of preservation than I do.

But, though I crave for work, I still like to be fair. I do not ask for more than my proper share.

But I get it without asking for it at least, so it appears to me and this worries me.

George says he does not think I need trouble myself on the subject. He thinks it is only my overscrupulous

nature that makes me fear I am having more than my due; and that, as a matter of fact, I don't have half as

In a boat, I have always noticed that it is the fixed idea of each member of the crew that he is doing

everything. Harris's notion was, that it was he alone who had been working, and that both George and I had

been imposing upon him. George, on the other hand, ridiculed the idea of Harris's having done anything more

than eat and sleep, and had a cast iron opinion that it was he George himself who had done all the labour

He said he had never been out with such a couple of lazily skulks as Harris and I.

"Fancy old George talking about work!" he laughed; "why, about halfan hour of it would kill him. Have

I agreed with Harris that I never had most certainly not since we had started on this trip.

"Well, I don't see how YOU can know much about it, one way or the other," George retorted on Harris; "for

I'm blest if you haven't been asleep half the time. Have you ever seen Harris fully awake, except at

Truth compelled me to support George. Harris had been very little good in the boat, so far as helping was

And that was their gratitude to me for having brought them and their wretched old boat all the way up from

Kingston, and for having superintended and managed everything for them, and taken care of them, and slaved

We settled the present difficulty by arranging that Harris and George should scull up past Reading, and that I

should tow the boat on from there. Pulling a heavy boat against a strong stream has few attractions for me

now. There was a time, long ago, when I used to clamour for the hard work: now I like to give the youngsters

I notice that most of the old river hands are similarly retiring, whenever there is any stiff pulling to be done.

You can always tell the old river hand by the way in which he stretches himself out upon the cushions at the

bottom of the boat, and encourages the rowers by telling them anecdotes about the marvellous feats he

"Call what you're doing hard work!" he drawls, between his contented whiffs, addressing the two perspiring

novices, who have been grinding away steadily up stream for the last hour and a half; "why, Jim Biffles and

Jack and I, last season, pulled up from Marlow to Goring in one afternoon never stopped once. Do you

Jack, who has made himself a bed up in the prow of all the rugs and coats he can collect, and who has been

lying there asleep for the last two hours, partially wakes up on being thus appealed to, and recollects all about

the matter, and also remembers that there was an unusually strong stream against them all the way likewise

"About thirtyfour miles, I suppose, it must have been," adds the first speaker, reaching down another

" No no; don't exaggerate, Tom," murmurs Jack, reprovingly; "thirty three at the outside."

And Jack and Tom, quite exhausted by this conversational effort, drop off to sleep once more. And the two

simpleminded youngsters at the sculls feel quite proud of being allowed to row such wonderful oarsmen as

When I was a young man, I used to listen to these tales from my elders, and take them in, and swallow them,

and digest every word of them, and then come up for more; but the new generation do not seem to have the

simple faith of the old times. We George, Harris, and myself took a "raw'un" up with us once last season,

and we plied him with the customary stretchers about the wonderful things we had done all the way up.

We gave him all the regular ones the timehonoured lies that have done duty up the river with every

boatingman for years past and added seven entirely original ones that we had invented for ourselves,

including a really quite likely story, founded, to a certain extent, on an all but true episode, which had

actually happened in a modified degree some years ago to friends of ours a story that a mere child could

And that young man mocked at them all, and wanted us to repeat the feats then and there, and to bet us ten to

We got to chatting about our rowing experiences this morning, and to recounting stories of our first efforts in

the art of oarsmanship. My own earliest boating recollection is of five of us contributing threepence each and

taking out a curiously constructed craft on the Regent's Park lake, drying ourselves subsequently, in the

After that, having acquired a taste for the water, I did a good deal of rafting in various suburban brickfields

an exercise providing more interest and excitement than might be imagined, especially when you are in the

middle of the pond and the proprietor of the materials of which the raft is constructed suddenly appears on the

Your first sensation on seeing this gentleman is that, somehow or other, you don't feel equal to company and

conversation, and that, if you could do so without appearing rude, you would rather avoid meeting him; and

your object is, therefore, to get off on the opposite side of the pond to which he is, and to go home quietly and

quickly, pretending not to see him. He, on the contrary is yearning to take you by the hand, and talk to you.

It appears that he knows your father, and is intimately acquainted with yourself, but this does not draw you

towards him. He says he'll teach you to take his boards and make a raft of them; but, seeing that you know

how to do this pretty well already, the offer, though doubtless kindly meant, seems a superfluous one on his

His anxiety to meet you, however, is proof against all your coolness, and the energetic manner in which he

dodges up and down the pond so as to be on the spot to greet you when you land is really quite flattering.

If he be of a stout and shortwinded build, you can easily avoid his advances; but, when he is of the youthful

and longlegged type, a meeting is inevitable. The interview is, however, extremely brief, most of the

conversation being on his part, your remarks being mostly of an exclamatory and monosyllabic order, and

I devoted some three months to rafting, and, being then as proficient as there was any need to be at that

branch of the art, I determined to go in for rowing proper, and joined one of the Lea boating clubs.

Being out in a boat on the river Lea, especially on Saturday afternoons, soon makes you smart at handling a

craft, and spry at escaping being run down by roughs or swamped by barges; and it also affords plenty of

opportunity for acquiring the most prompt and graceful method of lying down flat at the bottom of the boat

But it does not give you style. It was not till I came to the Thames that I got style. My style of rowing is very

George never went near the water until he was sixteen. Then he and eight other gentlemen of about the same

age went down in a body to Kew one Saturday, with the idea of hiring a boat there, and pulling to Richmond

and back; one of their number, a shockheaded youth, named Joskins, who had once or twice taken out a boat

The tide was running out pretty rapidly when they reached the landing stage, and there was a stiff breeze

blowing across the river, but this did not trouble them at all, and they proceeded to select their boat.

There was an eightoared racing outrigger drawn up on the stage; that was the one that took their fancy. They

said they'd have that one, please. The boatman was away, and only his boy was in charge. The boy tried to

damp their ardour for the outrigger, and showed them two or three very comfortablelooking boats of the

familyparty build, but those would not do at all; the outrigger was the boat they thought they would look

So the boy launched it, and they took off their coats and prepared to take their seats. The boy suggested that

George, who, even in those days, was always the heavy man of any party, should be number four. George

said he should be happy to be number four, and promptly stepped into bow's place, and sat down with his

back to the stern. They got him into his proper position at last, and then the others followed.

A particularly nervous boy was appointed cox, and the steering principle explained to him by Joskins. Joskins

himself took stroke. He told the others that it was simple enough; all they had to do was to follow him.

They said they were ready, and the boy on the landing stage took a boat hook and shoved him off.

What then followed George is unable to describe in detail. He has a confused recollection of having,

immediately on starting, received a violent blow in the small of the back from the buttend of number five's

scull, at the same time that his own seat seemed to disappear from under him by magic, and leave him sitting

on the boards. He also noticed, as a curious circumstance, that number two was at the same instant lying on

his back at the bottom of the boat, with his legs in the air, apparently in a fit.

They passed under Kew Bridge, broadside, at the rate of eight miles an hour. Joskins being the only one who

was rowing. George, on recovering his seat, tried to help him, but, on dipping his oar into the water, it

immediately, to his intense surprise, disappeared under the boat, and nearly took him with it.

How they got back George never knew, but it took them just forty minutes. A dense crowd watched the

entertainment from Kew Bridge with much interest, and everybody shouted out to them different directions.

Three times they managed to get the boat back through the arch, and three times they were carried under it

again, and every time "cox" looked up and saw the bridge above him he broke out into renewed sobs.

George said he little thought that afternoon that he should ever come to really like boating.

Harris is more accustomed to sea rowing than to river work, and says that, as an exercise, he prefers it. I

don't. I remember taking a small boat out at Eastbourne last summer: I used to do a good deal of sea rowing

years ago, and I thought I should be all right; but I found I had forgotten the art entirely. When one scull was

deep down underneath the water, the other would be flourishing wildly about in the air. To get a grip of the

water with both at the same time I had to stand up. The parade was crowded with nobility and gentry, and I

had to pull past them in this ridiculous fashion. I landed halfway down the beach, and secured the services

I like to watch an old boatman rowing, especially one who has been hired by the hour. There is something so

beautifully calm and restful about his method. It is so free from that fretful haste, that vehement striving, that

is every day becoming more and more the bane of nineteenthcentury life. He is not for ever straining

himself to pass all the other boats. If another boat overtakes him and passes him it does not annoy him; as a

matter of fact, they all do overtake him and pass him all those that are going his way. This would trouble

and irritate some people; the sublime equanimity of the hired boatman under the ordeal affords us a beautiful

Plain practical rowing of the gettheboatalong order is not a very difficult art to acquire, but it takes a

good deal of practice before a man feels comfortable, when rowing past girls. It is the "time" that worries a

youngster. "It's jolly funny," he says, as for the twentieth time within five minutes he disentangles his sculls

To see two novices try to keep time with one another is very amusing. Bow finds it impossible to keep pace

with stroke, because stroke rows in such an extraordinary fashion. Stroke is intensely indignant at this, and

explains that what he has been endeavouring to do for the last ten minutes is to adapt his method to bow's

limited capacity. Bow, in turn, then becomes insulted, and requests stroke not to trouble his head about him

"Or, shall I take stroke?" he adds, with the evident idea that that would at once put the whole matter right.

They splash along for another hundred yards with still moderate success, and then the whole secret of their

"I tell you what it is: you've got my sculls," he cries, turning to bow; "pass yours over."

"Well, do you know, I've been wondering how it was I couldn't get on with these," answers bow, quite

brightening up, and most willingly assisting in the exchange. "NOW we shall be all right."

But they are not not even then. Stroke has to stretch his arms nearly out of their sockets to reach his sculls

now; while bow's pair, at each recovery, hit him a violent blow in the chest. So they change back again, and

come to the conclusion that the man has given them the wrong set altogether; and over their mutual abuse of

George said he had often longed to take to punting for a change. Punting is not as easy as it looks. As in

rowing, you soon learn how to get along and handle the craft, but it takes long practice before you can do this

One young man I knew had a very sad accident happen to him the first time he went punting. He had been

getting on so well that he had grown quite cheeky over the business, and was walking up and down the punt,

working his pole with a careless grace that was quite fascinating to watch. Up he would march to the head of

the punt, plant his pole, and then run along right to the other end, just like an old punter. Oh! it was grand.

And it would all have gone on being grand if he had not unfortunately, while looking round to enjoy the

scenery, taken just one step more than there was any necessity for, and walked off the punt altogether. The

pole was firmly fixed in the mud, and he was left clinging to it while the punt drifted away. It was an

undignified position for him. A rude boy on the bank immediately yelled out to a lagging chum to "hurry up

I could not go to his assistance, because, as illluck would have it, we had not taken the proper precaution to

bring out a spare pole with us. I could only sit and look at him. His expression as the pole slowly sank with

I watched him gently let down into the water, and saw him scramble out, sad and wet. I could not help

laughing, he looked such a ridiculous figure. I continued to chuckle to myself about it for some time, and then

it was suddenly forced in upon me that really I had got very little to laugh at when I came to think of it. Here

was I, alone in a punt, without a pole, drifting helplessly down midstream possibly towards a weir.

I began to feel very indignant with my friend for having stepped overboard and gone off in that way. He

I drifted on for about a quarter of a mile, and then I came in sight of a fishingpunt moored in midstream, in

which sat two old fishermen. They saw me bearing down upon them, and they called out to me to keep out of

I explained the matter to them when I got nearer, and they caught me and lent me a pole. The weir was just

The first time I went punting was in company with three other fellows; they were going to show me how to

do it. We could not all start together, so I said I would go down first and get out the punt, and then I could

I could not get a punt out that afternoon, they were all engaged; so I had nothing else to do but to sit down on

I had not been sitting there long before my attention became attracted to a man in a punt who, I noticed with

some surprise, wore a jacket and cap exactly like mine. He was evidently a novice at punting, and his

performance was most interesting. You never knew what was going to happen when he put the pole in; he

evidently did not know himself. Sometimes he shot up stream and sometimes he shot down stream, and at

other times he simply spun round and came up the other side of the pole. And with every result he seemed

The people about the river began to get quite absorbed in him after a while, and to make bets with one

In the course of time my friends arrived on the opposite bank, and they stopped and watched him too. His

back was towards them, and they only saw his jacket and cap. From this they immediately jumped to the

conclusion that it was I, their beloved companion, who was making an exhibition of himself, and their delight

I did not grasp their mistake at first, and I thought, "How rude of them to go on like that, with a perfect

stranger, too!" But before I could call out and reprove them, the explanation of the matter occurred to me, and

Oh, how they enjoyed themselves, ridiculing that young man! For five good minutes they stood there,

shouting ribaldry at him, deriding him, mocking him, jeering at him. They peppered him with stale jokes,

they even made a few new ones and threw at him. They hurled at him all the private family jokes belonging

to our set, and which must have been perfectly unintelligible to him. And then, unable to stand their brutal

I was glad to notice that they had sufficient decency left in them to look very foolish. They explained to him

that they had thought he was some one they knew. They said they hoped he would not deem them capable of

Of course their having mistaken him for a friend excused it. I remember Harris telling me once of a bathing

experience he had at Boulogne. He was swimming about there near the beach, when he felt himself suddenly

seized by the neck from behind, and forcibly plunged under water. He struggled violently, but whoever had

got hold of him seemed to be a perfect Hercules in strength, and all his efforts to escape were unavailing. He

had given up kicking, and was trying to turn his thoughts upon solemn things, when his captor released him.

He regained his feet, and looked round for his wouldbe murderer. The assassin was standing close by him,

laughing heartily, but the moment he caught sight of Harris's face, as it emerged from the water, he started

"I really beg your pardon," he stammered confusedly, "but I took you for a friend of mine!"

Harris thought it was lucky for him the man had not mistaken him for a relation, or he would probably have

Sailing is a thing that wants knowledge and practice too though, as a boy, I did not think so. I had an idea it

came natural to a body, like rounders and touch. I knew another boy who held this view likewise, and so, one

windy day, we thought we would try the sport. We were stopping down at Yarmouth, and we decided we

would go for a trip up the Yare. We hired a sailing boat at the yard by the bridge, and started off. "It's rather a

rough day," said the man to us, as we put off: "better take in a reef and luff sharp when you get round the

We said we would make a point of it, and left him with a cheery "Good morning," wondering to ourselves

how you "luffed," and where we were to get a "reef" from, and what we were to do with it when we had got

We rowed until we were out of sight of the town, and then, with a wide stretch of water in front of us, and the

wind blowing a perfect hurricane across it, we felt that the time had come to commence operations.

Hector I think that was his name went on pulling while I unrolled the sail. It seemed a complicated job,

but I accomplished it at length, and then came the question, which was the top end?

By a sort of natural instinct, we, of course, eventually decided that the bottom was the top, and set to work to

fix it upsidedown. But it was a long time before we could get it up, either that way or any other way. The

impression on the mind of the sail seemed to be that we were playing at funerals, and that I was the corpse

When it found that this was not the idea, it hit me over the head with the boom, and refused to do anything.

He said people in ships always wetted the sails before they put them up. So I wetted it; but that only made

matters worse than they were before. A dry sail clinging to your legs and wrapping itself round your head is

We did get the thing up at last, the two of us together. We fixed it, not exactly upside down more sideways

like and we tied it up to the mast with the painter, which we cut off for the purpose.

That the boat did not upset I simply state as a fact. Why it did not upset I am unable to offer any reason. I

have often thought about the matter since, but I have never succeeded in arriving at any satisfactory

Possibly the result may have been brought about by the natural obstinacy of all things in this world. The boat

may possibly have come to the conclusion, judging from a cursory view of our behaviour, that we had come

out for a morning's suicide, and had thereupon determined to disappoint us. That is the only suggestion I can

By clinging like grim death to the gunwale, we just managed to keep inside the boat, but it was exhausting

work. Hector said that pirates and other seafaring people generally lashed the rudder to something or other,

and hauled in the main topjib, during severe squalls, and thought we ought to try to do something of the

As my advice was by far the easiest to follow, we ended by adopting it, and contrived to embrace the

The boat travelled up stream for about a mile at a pace I have never sailed at since, and don't want to again.

Then, at a bend, she heeled over till half her sail was under water. Then she righted herself by a miracle and

That mudbank saved us. The boat ploughed its way into the middle of it and then stuck. Finding that we

were once more able to move according to our ideas, instead of being pitched and thrown about like peas in a

We had had enough sailing. We did not want to overdo the thing and get a surfeit of it. We had had a sail a

good allround exciting, interesting sail and now we thought we would have a row, just for a change like.

We took the sculls and tried to push the boat off the mud, and, in doing so, we broke one of the sculls. After

that we proceeded with great caution, but they were a wretched old pair, and the second one cracked almost

The mud stretched out for about a hundred yards in front of us, and behind us was the water. The only thing

It was not the sort of day to attract people out on the river, and it was three hours before a soul came in sight.

It was an old fisherman who, with immense difficulty, at last rescued us, and we were towed back in an

What between tipping the man who had brought us home, and paying for the broken sculls, and for having

been out four hours and a half, it cost us a pretty considerable number of weeks' pocketmoney, that sail. But

WE came in sight of Reading about eleven. The river is dirty and dismal here. One does not linger in the

neighbourhood of Reading. The town itself is a famous old place, dating from the dim days of King Ethelred,

when the Danes anchored their warships in the Kennet, and started from Reading to ravage all the land of

Wessex; and here Ethelred and his brother Alfred fought and defeated them, Ethelred doing the praying and

In later years, Reading seems to have been regarded as a handy place to run down to, when matters were

becoming unpleasant in London. Parliament generally rushed off to Reading whenever there was a plague on

at Westminster; and, in 1625, the Law followed suit, and all the courts were held at Reading. It must have

been worth while having a mere ordinary plague now and then in London to get rid of both the lawyers and

During the Parliamentary struggle, Reading was besieged by the Earl of Essex, and, a quarter of a century

Henry I. lies buried at Reading, in the Benedictine abbey founded by him there, the ruins of which may still

be seen; and, in this same abbey, great John of Gaunt was married to the Lady Blanche.

At Reading lock we came up with a steam launch, belonging to some friends of mine, and they towed us up

to within about a mile of Streatley. It is very delightful being towed up by a launch. I prefer it myself to

rowing. The run would have been more delightful still, if it had not been for a lot of wretched small boats that

were continually getting in the way of our launch, and, to avoid running down which, we had to be

continually easing and stopping. It is really most annoying, the manner in which these rowing boats get in the

And they are so confoundedly impertinent, too, over it. You can whistle till you nearly burst your boiler

before they will trouble themselves to hurry. I would have one or two of them run down now and then, if I

The river becomes very lovely from a little above Reading. The railway rather spoils it near Tilehurst, but

from Mapledurham up to Streatley it is glorious. A little above Mapledurham lock you pass Hardwick House,

where Charles I. played bowls. The neighbourhood of Pangbourne, where the quaint little Swan Inn stands,

must be as familiar to the HABITUES of the Art Exhibitions as it is to its own inhabitants.

My friends' launch cast us loose just below the grotto, and then Harris wanted to make out that it was my turn

to pull. This seemed to me most unreasonable. It had been arranged in the morning that I should bring the

boat up to three miles above Reading. Well, here we were, ten miles above Reading! Surely it was now their

I could not get either George or Harris to see the matter in its proper light, however; so, to save argument, I

took the sculls. I had not been pulling for more than a minute or so, when George noticed something black

floating on the water, and we drew up to it. George leant over, as we neared it, and laid hold of it. And then

It was the dead body of a woman. It lay very lightly on the water, and the face was sweet and calm. It was not

a beautiful face; it was too prematurely agedlooking, too thin and drawn, to be that; but it was a gentle,

lovable face, in spite of its stamp of pinch and poverty, and upon it was that look of restful peace that comes

Fortunately for us we having no desire to be kept hanging about coroners' courts some men on the bank

We found out the woman's story afterwards. Of course it was the old, old vulgar tragedy. She had loved and

been deceived or had deceived herself. Anyhow, she had sinned some of us do now and then and her

family and friends, naturally shocked and indignant, had closed their doors against her.

Left to fight the world alone, with the millstone of her shame around her neck, she had sunk ever lower and

lower. For a while she had kept both herself and the child on the twelve shillings a week that twelve hours'

drudgery a day procured her, paying six shillings out of it for the child, and keeping her own body and soul

Six shillings a week does not keep body and soul together very unitedly. They want to get away from each

other when there is only such a very slight bond as that between them; and one day, I suppose, the pain and

the dull monotony of it all had stood before her eyes plainer than usual, and the mocking spectre had

frightened her. She had made one last appeal to friends, but, against the chill wall of their respectability, the

voice of the erring outcast fell unheeded; and then she had gone to see her child had held it in her arms and

kissed it, in a weary, dull sort of way, and without betraying any particular emotion of any kind, and had left

it, after putting into its hand a penny box of chocolate she had bought it, and afterwards, with her last few

It seemed that the bitterest thoughts of her life must have centred about the wooded reaches and the bright

green meadows around Goring; but women strangely hug the knife that stabs them, and, perhaps, amidst the

gall, there may have mingled also sunny memories of sweetest hours, spent upon those shadowed deeps over

She had wandered about the woods by the river's brink all day, and then, when evening fell and the grey

twilight spread its dusky robe upon the waters, she stretched her arms out to the silent river that had known

her sorrow and her joy. And the old river had taken her into its gentle arms, and had laid her weary head upon

Thus had she sinned in all things sinned in living and in dying. God help her! and all other sinners, if any

Goring on the left bank and Streatley on the right are both or either charming places to stay at for a few days.

The reaches down to Pangbourne woo one for a sunny sail or for a moonlight row, and the country round

about is full of beauty. We had intended to push on to Wallingford that day, but the sweet smiling face of the

river here lured us to linger for a while; and so we left our boat at the bridge, and went up into Streatley, and

They say that the hills on each ride of the stream here once joined and formed a barrier across what is now

the Thames, and that then the river ended there above Goring in one vast lake. I am not in a position either to

It is an ancient place, Streatley, dating back, like most riverside towns and villages, to British and Saxon

times. Goring is not nearly so pretty a little spot to stop at as Streatley, if you have your choice; but it is

passing fair enough in its way, and is nearer the railway in case you want to slip off without paying your hotel

WE stayed two days at Streatley, and got our clothes washed. We had tried washing them ourselves, in the

river, under George's superintendence, and it had been a failure. Indeed, it had been more than a failure,

because we were worse off after we had washed our clothes than we were before. Before we had washed

them, they had been very, very dirty, it is true; but they were just wearable. AFTER we had washed them

well, the river between Reading and Henley was much cleaner, after we had washed our clothes in it, than it

was before. All the dirt contained in the river between Reading and Henley, we collected, during that wash,

The washerwoman at Streatley said she felt she owed it to herself to charge us just three times the usual

prices for that wash. She said it had not been like washing, it had been more in the nature of excavating.

The neighbourhood of Streatley and Goring is a great fishing centre. There is some excellent fishing to be had

here. The river abounds in pike, roach, dace, gudgeon, and eels, just here; and you can sit and fish for them

Some people do. They never catch them. I never knew anybody catch anything, up the Thames, except

minnows and dead cats, but that has nothing to do, of course, with fishing! The local fisherman's guide

doesn't say a word about catching anything. All it says is the place is "a good station for fishing;" and, from

what I have seen of the district, I am quite prepared to bear out this statement.

There is no spot in the world where you can get more fishing, or where you can fish for a longer period.

Some fishermen come here and fish for a day, and others stop and fish for a month. You can hang on and fish

The ANGLER'S GUIDE TO THE THAMES says that "jack and perch are also to be had about here," but

there the ANGLER'S GUIDE is wrong. Jack and perch may BE about there. Indeed, I know for a fact that

they are. You can SEE them there in shoals, when you are out for a walk along the banks: they come and

stand half out of the water with their mouths open for biscuits. And, if you go for a bathe, they crowd round,

and get in your way, and irritate you. But they are not to be "had" by a bit of worm on the end of a hook, nor

I am not a good fisherman myself. I devoted a considerable amount of attention to the subject at one time,

and was getting on, as I thought, fairly well; but the old hands told me that I should never be any real good at

it, and advised me to give it up. They said that I was an extremely neat thrower, and that I seemed to have

plenty of gumption for the thing, and quite enough constitutional laziness. But they were sure I should never

They said that as a poet, or a shilling shocker, or a reporter, or anything of that kind, I might be satisfactory,

but that, to gain any position as a Thames angler, would require more play of fancy, more power of invention

Some people are under the impression that all that is required to make a good fisherman is the ability to tell

lies easily and without blushing; but this is a mistake. Mere bald fabrication is useless; the veriest tyro can

manage that. It is in the circumstantial detail, the embellishing touches of probability, the general air of

Anybody can come in and say, "Oh, I caught fifteen dozen perch yesterday evening;" or "Last Monday I

landed a gudgeon, weighing eighteen pounds, and measuring three feet from the tip to the tail."

There is no art, no skill, required for that sort of thing. It shows pluck, but that is all.

No; your accomplished angler would scorn to tell a lie, that way. His method is a study in itself.

He comes in quietly with his hat on, appropriates the most comfortable chair, lights his pipe, and commences

to puff in silence. He lets the youngsters brag away for a while, and then, during a momentary lull, he

removes the pipe from his mouth, and remarks, as he knocks the ashes out against the bars:

"Well, I had a haul on Tuesday evening that it's not much good my telling anybody about."

"Because I don't expect anybody would believe me if I did," replies the old fellow calmly, and without even a

tinge of bitterness in his tone, as he refills his pipe, and requests the landlord to bring him three of Scotch,

There is a pause after this, nobody feeling sufficiently sure of himself to contradict the old gentleman. So he

"No," he continues thoughtfully; "I shouldn't believe it myself if anybody told it to me, but it's a fact, for all

that. I had been sitting there all the afternoon and had caught literally nothing except a few dozen dace and

a score of jack; and I was just about giving it up as a bad job when I suddenly felt a rather smart pull at the

line. I thought it was another little one, and I went to jerk it up. Hang me, if I could move the rod! It took me

halfanhour halfanhour, sir! to land that fish; and every moment I thought the line was going to snap!

I reached him at last, and what do you think it was? A sturgeon! a forty pound sturgeon! taken on a line, sir!

Yes, you may well look surprised I'll have another three of Scotch, landlord, please."

And then he goes on to tell of the astonishment of everybody who saw it; and what his wife said, when he got

I asked the landlord of an inn up the river once, if it did not injure him, sometimes, listening to the tales that

"Oh, no; not now, sir. It did used to knock me over a bit at first, but, lor love you! me and the missus we

listens to `em all day now. It's what you're used to, you know. It's what you're used to."

I knew a young man once, he was a most conscientious fellow, and, when he took to flyfishing, he

"When I have caught forty fish," said he, "then I will tell people that I have caught fifty, and so on. But I will

But the twentyfive per cent. plan did not work well at all. He never was able to use it. The greatest number

of fish he ever caught in one day was three, and you can't add twentyfive per cent. to three at least, not in

So he increased his percentage to thirtythreeandathird; but that, again, was awkward, when he had only

caught one or two; so, to simplify matters, he made up his mind to just double the quantity.

He stuck to this arrangement for a couple of months, and then he grew dissatisfied with it. Nobody believed

him when he told them that he only doubled, and he, therefore, gained no credit that way whatever, while his

moderation put him at a disadvantage among the other anglers. When he had really caught three small fish,

and said he had caught six, it used to make him quite jealous to hear a man, whom he knew for a fact had

So, eventually, he made one final arrangement with himself, which he has religiously held to ever since, and

that was to count each fish that he caught as ten, and to assume ten to begin with. For example, if he did not

catch any fish at all, then he said he had caught ten fish you could never catch less than ten fish by his

system; that was the foundation of it. Then, if by any chance he really did catch one fish, he called it twenty,

It is a simple and easily worked plan, and there has been some talk lately of its being made use of by the

angling fraternity in general. Indeed, the Committee of the Thames Angler's Association did recommend its

adoption about two years ago, but some of the older members opposed it. They said they would consider the

If ever you have an evening to spare, up the river, I should advise you to drop into one of the little village

inns, and take a seat in the tap room. You will be nearly sure to meet one or two old rodmen, sipping their

toddy there, and they will tell you enough fishy stories, in half an hour, to give you indigestion for a month.

George and I I don't know what had become of Harris; he had gone out and had a shave, early in the

afternoon, and had then come back and spent full forty minutes in pipeclaying his shoes, we had not seen him

since George and I, therefore, and the dog, left to ourselves, went for a walk to Wallingford on the second

evening, and, coming home, we called in at a little riverside inn, for a rest, and other things.

We went into the parlour and sat down. There was an old fellow there, smoking a long clay pipe, and we

He told us that it had been a fine day today, and we told him that it had been a fine day yesterday, and then

we all told each other that we thought it would be a fine day tomorrow; and George said the crops seemed to

After that it came out, somehow or other, that we were strangers in the neighbourhood, and that we were

Then a pause ensued in the conversation, during which our eyes wandered round the room. They finally

rested upon a dusty old glasscase, fixed very high up above the chimneypiece, and containing a trout. It

rather fascinated me, that trout; it was such a monstrous fish. In fact, at first glance, I thought it was a cod.

"Ah!" said the old gentleman, following the direction of my gaze, "fine fellow that, ain't he?"

"Quite uncommon," I murmured; and George asked the old man how much he thought it weighed.

"Eighteen pounds six ounces," said our friend, rising and taking down his coat. "Yes," he continued, "it wur

sixteen year ago, come the third o' next month, that I landed him. I caught him just below the bridge with a

minnow. They told me he wur in the river, and I said I'd have him, and so I did. You don't see many fish that

We could not take our eyes off the fish after that. It really was a remarkably fine fish. We were still looking at

it, when the local carrier, who had just stopped at the inn, came to the door of the room with a pot of beer in

"Ah! you may well say that, sir," replied the man; and then, after a pull at his beer, he added, "Maybe you

"Ah!" said the carrier, "then, of course, how should you? It was nearly five years ago that I caught that trout."

"Yes, sir," replied the genial old fellow. "I caught him just below the lock leastways, what was the lock

then one Friday afternoon; and the remarkable thing about it is that I caught him with a fly. I'd gone out

pike fishing, bless you, never thinking of a trout, and when I saw that whopper on the end of my line, blest if

it didn't quite take me aback. Well, you see, he weighed twentysix pound. Goodnight, gentlemen, good

Five minutes afterwards, a third man came in, and described how he had caught it early one morning, with

bleak; and then he left, and a stolid, solemnlooking, middleaged individual came in, and sat down over by

None of us spoke for a while; but, at length, George turned to the new comer, and said:

"I beg your pardon, I hope you will forgive the liberty that we perfect strangers in the neighbourhood are

taking, but my friend here and myself would be so much obliged if you would tell us how you caught that

We said that nobody had told us so, but somehow or other we felt instinctively that it was he who had done it.

"Well, it's a most remarkable thing most remarkable," answered the stolid stranger, laughing; "because, as a

matter of fact, you are quite right. I did catch it. But fancy your guessing it like that. Dear me, it's really a

And then he went on, and told us how it had taken him half an hour to land it, and how it had broken his rod.

He said he had weighed it carefully when he reached home, and it had turned the scale at thirty four pounds.

He went in his turn, and when he was gone, the landlord came in to us. We told him the various histories we

had heard about his trout, and he was immensely amused, and we all laughed very heartily.

"Fancy Jim Bates and Joe Muggles and Mr. Jones and old Billy Maunders all telling you that they had caught

it. Ha! ha! ha! Well, that is good," said the honest old fellow, laughing heartily. "Yes, they are the sort to give

And then he told us the real history of the fish. It seemed that he had caught it himself, years ago, when he

was quite a lad; not by any art or skill, but by that unaccountable luck that appears to always wait upon a boy

when he plays the wag from school, and goes out fishing on a sunny afternoon, with a bit of string tied on to

He said that bringing home that trout had saved him from a whacking, and that even his schoolmaster had

He was called out of the room at this point, and George and I again turned our gaze upon the fish.

It really was a most astonishing trout. The more we looked at it, the more we marvelled at it.

It excited George so much that he climbed up on the back of a chair to get a better view of it.

And then the chair slipped, and George clutched wildly at the troutcase to save himself, and down it came

But he had. That trout lay shattered into a thousand fragments I say a thousand, but they may have only

We thought it strange and unaccountable that a stuffed trout should break up into little pieces like that.

And so it would have been strange and unaccountable, if it had been a stuffed trout, but it was not.

WE left Streatley early the next morning, and pulled up to Culham, and slept under the canvas, in the

The river is not extraordinarily interesting between Streatley and Wallingford. From Cleve you get a stretch

of six and a half miles without a lock. I believe this is the longest uninterrupted stretch anywhere above

But however satisfactory this absence of locks may be to rowingmen, it is to be regretted by the mere

For myself, I am fond of locks. They pleasantly break the monotony of the pull. I like sitting in the boat and

slowly rising out of the cool depths up into new reaches and fresh views; or sinking down, as it were, out of

the world, and then waiting, while the gloomy gates creak, and the narrow strip of daylight between them

widens till the fair smiling river lies full before you, and you push your little boat out from its brief prison on

They are picturesque little spots, these locks. The stout old lock keeper, or his cheerfullooking wife, or

brighteyed daughter, are pleasant folk to have a passing chat with. * You meet other boats there, and river

gossip is exchanged. The Thames would not be the fairyland it is without its flowerdecked locks.

* Or rather WERE. The Conservancy of late seems to have constituted itself into a society for the

employment of idiots. A good many of the new lockkeepers, especially in the more crowded portions of the

Talking of locks reminds me of an accident George and I very nearly had one summer's morning at Hampton

It was a glorious day, and the lock was crowded; and, as is a common practice up the river, a speculative

I did not catch what was going on at first, and was, therefore, extremely surprised at noticing George

hurriedly smooth out his trousers, ruffle up his hair, and stick his cap on in a rakish manner at the back of his

head, and then, assuming an expression of mingled affability and sadness, sit down in a graceful attitude, and

My first idea was that he had suddenly caught sight of some girl he knew, and I looked about to see who it

was. Everybody in the lock seemed to have been suddenly struck wooden. They were all standing or sitting

about in the most quaint and curious attitudes I have ever seen off a Japanese fan. All the girls were smiling.

Oh, they did look so sweet! And all the fellows were frowning, and looking stern and noble.

And then, at last, the truth flashed across me, and I wondered if I should be in time. Ours was the first boat,

So I faced round quickly, and took up a position in the prow, where I leant with careless grace upon the

hitcher, in an attitude suggestive of agility and strength. I arranged my hair with a curl over the forehead, and

threw an air of tender wistfulness into my expression, mingled with a touch of cynicism, which I am told

I could not turn round to see what was the matter, and whose nose it was that was to be looked at. I stole a

sideglance at George's nose! It was all right at all events, there was nothing wrong with it that could be

altered. I squinted down at my own, and that seemed all that could be expected also.

Neither George nor I dared to turn round. The man's hand was on the cap, and the picture might be taken any

moment. Was it us they were calling to? What was the matter with our noses? Why were they to be pushed

But now the whole lock started yelling, and a stentorian voice from the back shouted:

"Look at your boat, sir; you in the red and black caps. It's your two corpses that will get taken in that photo, if

We looked then, and saw that the nose of our boat had got fixed under the woodwork of the lock, while the

incoming water was rising all around it, and tilting it up. In another moment we should be over. Quick as

thought, we each seized an oar, and a vigorous blow against the side of the lock with the buttends released

We did not come out well in that photograph, George and I. Of course, as was to be expected, our luck

ordained it, that the man should set his wretched machine in motion at the precise moment that we were both

lying on our backs with a wild expression of "Where am I? and what is it?" on our faces, and our four feet

Our feet were undoubtedly the leading article in that photograph. Indeed, very little else was to be seen. They

filled up the foreground entirely. Behind them, you caught glimpses of the other boats, and bits of the

surrounding scenery; but everything and everybody else in the lock looked so utterly insignificant and paltry

compared with our feet, that all the other people felt quite ashamed of themselves, and refused to subscribe to

The owner of one steam launch, who had bespoke six copies, rescinded the order on seeing the negative. He

said he would take them if anybody could show him his launch, but nobody could. It was somewhere behind

There was a good deal of unpleasantness over the business. The photographer thought we ought to take a

dozen copies each, seeing that the photo was about ninetenths us, but we declined. We said we had no

objection to being photo'd fulllength, but we preferred being taken the right way up.

Wallingford, six miles above Streatley, is a very ancient town, and has been an active centre for the making

of English history. It was a rude, mudbuilt town in the time of the Britons, who squatted there, until the

Roman legions evicted them; and replaced their claybaked walls by mighty fortifications, the trace of which

Time has not yet succeeded in sweeping away, so well those oldworld masons knew how to build.

But Time, though he halted at Roman walls, soon crumbled Romans to dust; and on the ground, in later

It was a walled and fortified town up to the time of the Parliamentary War, when it suffered a long and bitter

From Wallingford up to Dorchester the neighbourhood of the river grows more hilly, varied, and picturesque.

Dorchester stands half a mile from the river. It can be reached by paddling up the Thame, if you have a small

boat; but the best way is to leave the river at Day's Lock, and take a walk across the fields. Dorchester is a

delightfully peaceful old place, nestling in stillness and silence and drowsiness.

Dorchester, like Wallingford, was a city in ancient British times; it was then called Caer Doren, "the city on

the water." In more recent times the Romans formed a great camp here, the fortifications surrounding which

now seem like low, even hills. In Saxon days it was the capital of Wessex. It is very old, and it was very

strong and great once. Now it sits aside from the stirring world, and nods and dreams.

Round Clifton Hampden, itself a wonderfully pretty village, old fashioned, peaceful, and dainty with

flowers, the river scenery is rich and beautiful. If you stay the night on land at Clifton, you cannot do better

than put up at the "Barley Mow." It is, without exception, I should say, the quaintest, most oldworld inn up

the river. It stands on the right of the bridge, quite away from the village. Its lowpitched gables and thatched

roof and latticed windows give it quite a storybook appearance, while inside it is even still more

It would not be a good place for the heroine of a modern novel to stay at. The heroine of a modern novel is

always "divinely tall," and she is ever "drawing herself up to her full height." At the "Barley Mow" she would

It would also be a bad house for a drunken man to put up at. There are too many surprises in the way of

unexpected steps down into this room and up into that; and as for getting upstairs to his bedroom, or ever

finding his bed when he got up, either operation would be an utter impossibility to him.

We were up early the next morning, as we wanted to be in Oxford by the afternoon. It is surprising how early

one can get up, when camping out. One does not yearn for "just another five minutes" nearly so much, lying

wrapped up in a rug on the boards of a boat, with a Gladstone bag for a pillow, as one does in a featherbed.

From Clifton to Culham the river banks are flat, monotonous, and uninteresting, but, after you get through

At Abingdon, the river passes by the streets. Abingdon is a typical country town of the smaller order quiet,

eminently respectable, clean, and desperately dull. It prides itself on being old, but whether it can compare in

this respect with Wallingford and Dorchester seems doubtful. A famous abbey stood here once, and within

In St. Nicholas Church, at Abingdon, there is a monument to John Blackwall and his wife Jane, who both,

after leading a happy married life, died on the very same day, August 21, 1625; and in St. Helen's Church, it

is recorded that W. Lee, who died in 1637, "had in his lifetime issue from his loins two hundred lacking but

three." If you work this out you will find that Mr. W. Lee's family numbered one hundred and ninetyseven.

Mr. W. Lee five times Mayor of Abingdon was, no doubt, a benefactor to his generation, but I hope there

From Abingdon to Nuneham Courteney is a lovely stretch. Nuneham Park is well worth a visit. It can be

viewed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The house contains a fine collection of pictures and curiosities, and the

The pool under Sandford lasher, just behind the lock, is a very good place to drown yourself in. The

undercurrent is terribly strong, and if you once get down into it you are all right. An obelisk marks the spot

where two men have already been drowned, while bathing there; and the steps of the obelisk are generally

used as a divingboard by young men now who wish to see if the place really IS dangerous.

Iffley Lock and Mill, a mile before you reach Oxford, is a favourite subject with the riverloving brethren of

the brush. The real article, however, is rather disappointing, after the pictures. Few things, I have noticed,

We passed through Iffley Lock at about halfpast twelve, and then, having tidied up the boat and made all

Between Iffley and Oxford is the most difficult bit of the river I know. You want to be born on that bit of

water, to understand it. I have been over it a fairish number of times, but I have never been able to get the

hang of it. The man who could row a straight course from Oxford to Iffley ought to be able to live

comfortably, under one roof, with his wife, his motherinlaw, his elder sister, and the old servant who was

First the current drives you on to the right bank, and then on to the left, then it takes you out into the middle,

turns you round three times, and carries you up stream again, and always ends by trying to smash you up

Of course, as a consequence of this, we got in the way of a good many other boats, during the mile, and they

in ours, and, of course, as a consequence of that, a good deal of bad language occurred.

I don't know why it should be, but everybody is always so exceptionally irritable on the river. Little mishaps,

that you would hardly notice on dry land, drive you nearly frantic with rage, when they occur on the water.

When Harris or George makes an ass of himself on dry land, I smile indulgently; when they behave in a

chucklehead way on the river, I use the most bloodcurdling language to them. When another boat gets in

The mildest tempered people, when on land, become violent and blood thirsty when in a boat. I did a little

boating once with a young lady. She was naturally of the sweetest and gentlest disposition imaginable, but on

"Oh, drat the man!" she would exclaim, when some unfortunate sculler would get in her way; "why don't he

And, "Oh, bother the silly old thing!" she would say indignantly, when the sail would not go up properly.

The air of the river has a demoralising effect upon one's temper, and this it is, I suppose, which causes even

barge men to be sometimes rude to one another, and to use language which, no doubt, in their calmer

WE spent two very pleasant days at Oxford. There are plenty of dogs in the town of Oxford. Montmorency

had eleven fights on the first day, and fourteen on the second, and evidently thought he had got to heaven.

Among folk too constitutionally weak, or too constitutionally lazy, whichever it may be, to relish upstream

work, it is a common practice to get a boat at Oxford, and row down. For the energetic, however, the up

stream journey is certainly to be preferred. It does not seem good to be always going with the current. There

is more satisfaction in squaring one's back, and fighting against it, and winning one's way forward in spite of

To those who do contemplate making Oxford their startingplace, I would say, take your own boat unless,

of course, you can take someone else's without any possible danger of being found out. The boats that, as a

rule, are let for hire on the Thames above Marlow, are very good boats. They are fairly watertight; and so

long as they are handled with care, they rarely come to pieces, or sink. There are places in them to sit down

on, and they are complete with all the necessary arrangements or nearly all to enable you to row them and

But they are not ornamental. The boat you hire up the river above Marlow is not the sort of boat in which you

can flash about and give yourself airs. The hired upriver boat very soon puts a stop to any nonsense of that

sort on the part of its occupants. That is its chief one may say, its only recommendation.

The man in the hired upriver boat is modest and retiring. He likes to keep on the shady side, underneath the

trees, and to do most of his travelling early in the morning or late at night, when there are not many people

When the man in the hired upriver boat sees anyone he knows, he gets out on to the bank, and hides behind

I was one of a party who hired an upriver boat one summer, for a few days' trip. We had none of us ever

seen the hired upriver boat before; and we did not know what it was when we did see it.

We had written for a boat a double sculling skiff; and when we went down with our bags to the yard, and

"Oh, yes; you're the party that wrote for a double sculling skiff. It's all right. Jim, fetch round THE PRIDE

The boy went, and reappeared five minutes afterwards, struggling with an antediluvian chunk of wood, that

looked as though it had been recently dug out of somewhere, and dug out carelessly, so as to have been

My own idea, on first catching sight of the object, was that it was a Roman relic of some sort, relic of

The neighbourhood of the upper Thames is rich in Roman relics, and my surmise seemed to me a very

probable one; but our serious young man, who is a bit of a geologist, poohpoohed my Roman relic theory,

and said it was clear to the meanest intellect (in which category he seemed to be grieved that he could not

conscientiously include mine) that the thing the boy had found was the fossil of a whale; and he pointed out

to us various evidences proving that it must have belonged to the preglacial period.

To settle the dispute, we appealed to the boy. We told him not to be afraid, but to speak the plain truth: Was it

We thought this a very humorous answer on the part of the boy at first, and somebody gave him twopence as

a reward for his ready wit; but when he persisted in keeping up the joke, as we thought, too long, we got

"Come, come, my lad!" said our captain sharply, "don't let us have any nonsense. You take your mother's

The boatbuilder himself came up then, and assured us, on his word, as a practical man, that the thing really

was a boat was, in fact, THE boat, the "double sculling skiff" selected to take us on our trip down the river.

We grumbled a good deal. We thought he might, at least, have had it whitewashed or tarred had

SOMETHING done to it to distinguish it from a bit of a wreck; but he could not see any fault in it.

He even seemed offended at our remarks. He said he had picked us out the best boat in all his stock, and he

He said it, THE PRIDE OF THE THAMES, had been in use, just as it now stood (or rather as it now hung

together), for the last forty years, to his knowledge, and nobody had complained of it before, and he did not

We fastened the socalled boat together with some pieces of string, got a bit of wallpaper and pasted over

They charged us thirtyfive shillings for the loan of the remnant for six days; and we could have bought the

The weather changed on the third day, Oh! I am talking about our present trip now, and we started from

The river with the sunlight flashing from its dancing wavelets, gilding gold the greygreen beech trunks,

glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows o'er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the

millwheels, throwing kisses to the lilies, wantoning with the weirs' white waters, silvering mossgrown

walls and bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying tangled in the

rushes, peeping, laughing, from each inlet, gleaming gay on many a far sail, making soft the air with glory

But the river chill and weary, with the ceaseless raindrops falling on its brown and sluggish waters, with a

sound as of a woman, weeping low in some dark chamber; while the woods, all dark and silent, shrouded in

their mists of vapour, stand like ghosts upon the margin; silent ghosts with eyes reproachful, like the ghosts

of evil actions, like the ghosts of friends neglected is a spirithaunted water through the land of vain

Sunlight is the lifeblood of Nature. Mother Earth looks at us with such dull, soulless eyes, when the sunlight

has died away from out of her. It makes us sad to be with her then; she does not seem to know us or to care

for us. She is as a widow who has lost the husband she loved, and her children touch her hand, and look up

We rowed on all that day through the rain, and very melancholy work it was. We pretended, at first, that we

enjoyed it. We said it was a change, and that we liked to see the river under all its different aspects. We said

we could not expect to have it all sunshine, nor should we wish it. We told each other that Nature was

Indeed, Harris and I were quite enthusiastic about the business, for the first few hours. And we sang a song

about a gipsy's life, and how delightful a gipsy's existence was! free to storm and sunshine, and to every

wind that blew! and how he enjoyed the rain, and what a lot of good it did him; and how he laughed at

We hoisted the cover before we had lunch, and kept it up all the afternoon, just leaving a little space in the

bow, from which one of us could paddle and keep a lookout. In this way we made nine miles, and pulled up

I cannot honestly say that we had a merry evening. The rain poured down with quiet persistency. Everything

in the boat was damp and clammy. Supper was not a success. Cold veal pie, when you don't feel hungry, is

apt to cloy. I felt I wanted whitebait and a cutlet; Harris babbled of soles and whitesauce, and passed the

remains of his pie to Montmorency, who declined it, and, apparently insulted by the offer, went and sat over

George requested that we would not talk about these things, at all events until he had finished his cold boiled

We played penny nap after supper. We played for about an hour and a half, by the end of which time George

had won fourpence George always is lucky at cards and Harris and I had lost exactly twopence each.

We thought we would give up gambling then. As Harris said, it breeds an unhealthy excitement when carried

too far. George offered to go on and give us our revenge; but Harris and I decided not to battle any further

After that, we mixed ourselves some toddy, and sat round and talked. George told us about a man he had

known, who had come up the river two years ago and who had slept out in a damp boat on just such another

night as that was, and it had given him rheumatic fever, and nothing was able to save him, and he had died in

great agony ten days afterwards. George said he was quite a young man, and was engaged to be married. He

And that put Harris in mind of a friend of his, who had been in the Volunteers, and who had slept out under

canvas one wet night down at Aldershot, "on just such another night as this," said Harris; and he had woke up

in the morning a cripple for life. Harris said he would introduce us both to the man when we got back to

This naturally led to some pleasant chat about sciatica, fevers, chills, lung diseases, and bronchitis; and Harris

said how very awkward it would be if one of us were taken seriously ill in the night, seeing how far away we

There seemed to be a desire for something frolicksome to follow upon this conversation, and in a weak

moment I suggested that George should get out his banjo, and see if he could not give us a comic song.

I will say for George that he did not want any pressing. There was no nonsense about having left his music at

home, or anything of that sort. He at once fished out his instrument, and commenced to play "Two Lovely

I had always regarded "Two Lovely Black Eyes" as rather a commonplace tune until that evening. The rich

The desire that grew upon Harris and myself, as the mournful strains progressed, was to fall upon each other's

necks and weep; but by great effort we kept back the rising tears, and listened to the wild yearnful melody in

When the chorus came we even made a desperate effort to be merry. We re filled our glasses and joined in;

Harris, in a voice trembling with emotion, leading, and George and I following a few words behind:

"Two lovely black eyes; Oh! what a surprise! Only for telling a man he was wrong, Two "

There we broke down. The unutterable pathos of George's accompaniment to that "two" we were, in our then

state of depression, unable to bear. Harris sobbed like a little child, and the dog howled till I thought his heart

George wanted to go on with another verse. He thought that when he had got a little more into the tune, and

could throw more "abandon," as it were, into the rendering, it might not seem so sad. The feeling of the

There being nothing else to do, we went to bed that is, we undressed ourselves, and tossed about at the

bottom of the boat for some three or four hours. After which, we managed to get some fitful slumber until

The second day was exactly like the first. The rain continued to pour down, and we sat, wrapped up in our

One of us I forget which one now, but I rather think it was myself made a few feeble attempts during the

course of the morning to work up the old gipsy foolishness about being children of Nature and enjoying the

was so painfully evident, as expressing the sentiments of each of us, that to sing it seemed unnecessary.

On one point we were all agreed, and that was that, come what might, we would go through with this job to

the bitter end. We had come out for a fortnight's enjoyment on the river, and a fortnight's enjoyment on the

river we meant to have. If it killed us! well, that would be a sad thing for our friends and relations, but it

could not be helped. We felt that to give in to the weather in a climate such as ours would be a most

"It's only two days more," said Harris, "and we are young and strong. We may get over it all right, after all."

At about four o'clock we began to discuss our arrangements for the evening. We were a little past Goring

then, and we decided to paddle on to Pangbourne, and put up there for the night.

We sat and mused on the prospect. We should be in at Pangbourne by five. We should finish dinner at, say,

halfpast six. After that we could walk about the village in the pouring rain until bedtime; or we could sit in

"Why, the Alhambra would be almost more lively," said Harris, venturing his head outside the cover for a

* A capital little outoftheway restaurant, in the neighbourhood of , where you can get one of the

bestcooked and cheapest little French dinners or suppers that I know of, with an excellent bottle of Beaune,

"Yes it's almost a pity we've made up our minds to stick to this boat," answered Harris; and then there was

"If we HADN'T made up our minds to contract our certain deaths in this bally old coffin," observed George,

casting a glance of intense malevolence over the boat, "it might be worth while to mention that there's a train

leaves Pangbourne, I know, soon after five, which would just land us in town in comfortable time to get a

Nobody spoke. We looked at one another, and each one seemed to see his own mean and guilty thoughts

reflected in the faces of the others. In silence, we dragged out and overhauled the Gladstone. We looked up

Twenty minutes later, three figures, followed by a shamedlooking dog, might have been seen creeping

stealthily from the boathouse at the "Swan" towards the railway station, dressed in the following neither

Black leather shoes, dirty; suit of boating flannels, very dirty; brown felt hat, much battered; mackintosh,

We had deceived the boatman at Pangbourne. We had not had the face to tell him that we were running away

from the rain. We had left the boat, and all it contained, in his charge, with instructions that it was to be ready

for us at nine the next morning. If, we said IF anything unforeseen should happen, preventing our return,

We reached Paddington at seven, and drove direct to the restaurant I have before described, where we partook

of a light meal, left Montmorency, together with suggestions for a supper to be ready at halfpast ten, and

We attracted a good deal of attention at the Alhambra. On our presenting ourselves at the paybox we were

gruffly directed to go round to Castle Street, and were informed that we were halfanhour behind our time.

We convinced the man, with some difficulty, that we were NOT "the world renowned contortionists from

Inside we were a still greater success. Our fine bronzed countenances and picturesque clothes were followed

We adjourned soon after the first ballet, and wended our way back to the restaurant, where supper was

I must confess to enjoying that supper. For about ten days we seemed to have been living, more or less, on

nothing but cold meat, cake, and bread and jam. It had been a simple, a nutritious diet; but there had been

nothing exciting about it, and the odour of Burgundy, and the smell of French sauces, and the sight of clean

napkins and long loaves, knocked as a very welcome visitor at the door of our inner man.

We pegged and quaffed away in silence for a while, until the time came when, instead of sitting bolt upright,

and grasping the knife and fork firmly, we leant back in our chairs and worked slowly and carelessly when

we stretched out our legs beneath the table, let our napkins fall, unheeded, to the floor, and found time to

more critically examine the smoky ceiling than we had hitherto been able to do when we rested our glasses

Then Harris, who was sitting next the window, drew aside the curtain and looked out upon the street.

It glistened darkly in the wet, the dim lamps flickered with each gust, the rain splashed steadily into the

puddles and trickled down the water spouts into the running gutters. A few soaked wayfarers hurried past,

"Well," said Harris, reaching his hand out for his glass, "we have had a pleasant trip, and my hearty thanks

for it to old Father Thames but I think we did well to chuck it when we did. Here's to Three Men well out of

And Montmorency, standing on his hind legs, before the window, peering out into the night, gave a short