The Modern Thames 



captives depicted on Egyptian monuments, with cords 

 about their necks. How curious is that instinct which 

 makes each sex, in different ways, the willing slave 

 of the other! These human steam-tugs paced and 

 pulled, and drew the varnished craft swiftly against 

 the stream, evidently determined to do a certain 

 distance by a certain hour. As I drifted by without 

 labour, I admired them very much. An interval, and 

 still more gentlemen in flannel, labouring like galley- 

 slaves at the tow-rope, hot, perspiring, and happy 

 after their kind, and ladies under parasols, comfort- 

 ably seated, cool, and happy after their kind. 



Considering upon these things, I began to discern 

 the true and only manner in which the modern 

 Thames is to be enjoyed. Above all things nothing 

 heroic. Don't scull don't row don't haul at tow- 

 ropes don't swim don't flourish a fishing-rod. Set 

 your mind at ease. Make friends with two or more 

 athletes, thorough good fellows, good-natured, delight- 

 ing in their thews and sinews. Explain to them that 

 somehow, don't you see, nature did not bless you 

 with such superabundant muscularity, although there 

 is nothing under the sun you admire so much. 

 Forthwith these good fellows will pet you, and your 

 Thames fortune is made. You take your place in the 

 stern-sheets, happily protected on either side by 

 feminine human nature, and the parasols meeting 

 above shield you from the sun. The tow-rope is 

 adjusted, and the tugs start. The gliding motion 

 soothes the soul. Feminine boating nature has no 

 antipathy to the cigarette. A delicious odour, soft as 

 new-mown hay, a hint of spices and distant flowers 

 sunshine dried and preserved, sunshine you can 

 handle rises from the smouldering fibres. This is 

 smoking summer itself. Yonder in the fore part of 



