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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
diving-board
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
river-loving
brethren
of
the
brush
.
The
real
article
,
however
,
is
rather
disappointing
,
after
the
pictures
.
Few
things
,
I
have
noticed
,
come
quite
up
to
the
pictures
of
them
,
in
this
world
.
We
passed
through
Iffley
Lock
at
about
half-past
twelve
,
and
then
,
having
tidied
up
the
boat
and
made
all
ready
for
landing
,
we
set
to
work
on
our
last
mile
.
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
mother-inlaw
,
his
elder
sister
,
and
the
old
servant
who
was
in
the
family
when
he
was
a
baby
.
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
against
a
college
barge
.
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
do
n'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
chuckle-head
way
on
the
river
,
I
use
the
most
blood-curdling
language
to
them
.
When
another
boat
gets
in
my
way
,
I
feel
I
want
to
take
an
oar
and
kill
all
the
people
in
it
.
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
the
river
it
was
quite
awful
to
hear
her
.
"
Oh
,
drat
the
man
!
"
she
would
exclaim
,
when
some
unfortunate
sculler
would
get
in
her
way
;
"
why
do
n't
he
look
where
he
's
going
?
"
And
,
"
Oh
,
bother
the
silly
old
thing
!
"
she
would
say
indignantly
,
when
the
sail
would
not
go
up
properly
.
And
she
would
catch
hold
of
it
,
and
shake
it
quite
brutally
.
