his method. It is so free from that fretful haste, that vehement
striving, that is every day becoming more and more the bane of

nineteenth-century 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 lesson against ambition and uppishness.

Plain practical rowing of the get-the-boat-along 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 from yours; "I can
get on all right when I'm by myself!"

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 intenselyindignant 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 limitedcapacity. Bow, in turn,
then becomes insulted, and requests stroke not to trouble his head about

him (bow), but to devote his mind to setting a sensible stroke.
"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 trouble bursts upon stroke like a
flash of inspiration.

"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 this man they become quite

friendly and sympathetic.
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 with dignity and without getting the water all up your sleeve.
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 and
see real monkey on a stick."

I could not go to his assistance, because, as ill-luck 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 him I shall never forget; there was so much thought in it.

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 mid-stream - possibly towards a

weir.
I began to feel very indignant with my friend for having stepped

overboard and gone off in that way. He might, at all events, have left
me the pole.

I drifted on for about a quarter of a mile, and then I came in sight of a
fishing-punt moored in mid-stream, in which sat two old fishermen. They

saw me bearing down upon them, and they called out to me to keep out of
their way.

"I can't," I shouted back.
"But you don't try," they answered.

I explained the matter to them when I got nearer, and they caught me and
lent me a pole. The weir was just fifty yards below. I am glad they

happened to be there.
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 potter about and practice a bit until they came.
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 the bank, watching the river,
and waiting for my friends.

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 equally surprised and annoyed.

The people about the river began to get quite absorbed in him after a
while, and to make bets with one another as to what would be the outcome

of his next push.
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 belovedcompanion, who was making an
exhibition of himself, and their delight knew no bounds. They commenced

to chaff him unmercifully.
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 I withdrew behind a tree.
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
jibes any longer, he turned round on them, and they saw his face!

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 so insulting any one except a personal friend of their own.

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 would-be 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
back and seemed quite concerned.

"I really beg your pardon," he stammered confusedly, "but I took you for