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We
seemed
like
knights
of
some
old
legend
,
sailing
across
some
mystic
lake
into
the
unknown
realm
of
twilight
,
unto
the
great
land
of
the
sunset
.
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
beings
,
and
that
they
were
vexed
and
discontented
.
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
,
carefully-thought-out
,
comprehensive
curses
,
that
embraced
the
whole
of
our
career
,
and
went
away
into
the
distant
future
,
and
included
all
our
relations
,
and
covered
everything
connected
with
us
--
good
,
substantial
curses
.
Harris
told
them
they
ought
to
be
grateful
for
a
little
excitement
,
sitting
there
fishing
all
day
,
and
he
also
said
that
he
was
shocked
and
grieved
to
hear
men
their
age
give
way
to
temper
so
.
But
it
did
not
do
any
good
.
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
got
drowned
;
and
he
took
the
lines
,
and
brought
us
up
to
Marlow
.
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
worldly-wise
Lord
Paget
,
the
councillor
of
four
successive
sovereigns
.
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
!
how
from
your
whispering
leaves
there
softly
fall
the
voices
of
long
ago
!
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
bed-chamber
,
and
a
secret
room
hid
high
up
in
the
thick
walls
.
