THE THAMES. 45 



and young. Cockneyism ? Sit down upon this bit of soft 

 turf, your feet dallying with the meadow-sweet on the brink, 

 and watch the inhabitants of the nearest punt. There is 

 the fisherman in his usual commanding position ground- 

 bait, gentles, landing net, customer's lines, and (may I 

 without offence add ?) commissariat department, all within 

 reach of his hand. You see this is a family party. Pater- 

 familias in the straw hat will be at the receipt of custom to- 

 morrow morning, and would politely but firmly request you 

 to endorse your cheque if you had omitted that necessary 

 ceremony. He watches the fisherman (who is generally 

 Bob or Bill Somebody) dispense ground-bait much as 

 yesterday he would watch the junior at the bank shovelling 

 sovereigns into the bags ; only he is free from anxiety, and 

 the eye of the superior is not upon him. The two boys are 

 absorbed in their sport, striking vigorously at the end of 

 every swim, and clamouring for more ground-bait. Their 

 mother, working quietly in the background, has to duck her 

 head and lower her parasol when Master Henry perceives a 

 bite, for Master Henry's idea of sport is swishing the fish 

 high in the air over his shoulder. The little girl, lounging 

 in the bottom of the punt, laughs musically at these per- 

 formances ; and the merry voices of all are never wholly 

 still. ' . Quite content are these anglers with the six-inch 

 victims transferred, as fortune varies, into the basket. 



What a hubbub there is in the punt when Paterfamilias 

 after a dexterous " strike " finds his float doggedly held be- 

 neath the surface ! The fisherman warns and directs after 

 the manner of fishermen, doing, of course, his best to increase 

 the nervousness of an inexperienced angler. Even mamma 

 gets excited over this crisis. To right of them, to left of 



