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He
even
seemed
offended
at
our
remarks
.
He
said
he
had
picked
us
out
the
best
boat
in
all
his
stock
,
and
he
thought
we
might
have
been
more
grateful
.
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
see
why
we
should
be
the
first
to
begin
.
We
argued
no
more
.
We
fastened
the
so-called
boat
together
with
some
pieces
of
string
,
got
a
bit
of
wall-paper
and
pasted
over
the
shabbier
places
,
said
our
prayers
,
and
stepped
on
board
.
They
charged
us
thirty-five
shillings
for
the
loan
of
the
remnant
for
six
days
;
and
we
could
have
bought
the
thing
out-and-out
for
four-and-sixpence
at
any
sale
of
drift-wood
round
the
coast
.
The
weather
changed
on
the
third
day
,
--
Oh
!
I
am
talking
about
our
present
trip
now
,
--
and
we
started
from
Oxford
upon
our
homeward
journey
in
the
midst
of
a
steady
drizzle
.
The
river
--
with
the
sunlight
flashing
from
its
dancing
wavelets
,
gilding
gold
the
grey-green
beech
--
trunks
,
glinting
through
the
dark
,
cool
wood
paths
,
chasing
shadows
o'er
the
shallows
,
flinging
diamonds
from
the
mill-wheels
,
throwing
kisses
to
the
lilies
,
wantoning
with
the
weirs
'
white
waters
,
silvering
moss-grown
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
--
is
a
golden
fairy
stream
.
But
the
river
--
chill
and
weary
,
with
the
ceaseless
rain-drops
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
spirit-haunted
water
through
the
land
of
vain
regrets
.
Sunlight
is
the
life-blood
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
into
her
eyes
,
but
gain
no
smile
from
her
.
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
beautiful
,
even
in
her
tears
.
