THREE 



MANY a man whose brief holiday is marred by summer 

 rain is tempted to bestow a hearty malediction on the 

 idle promise of St. S within. But for the oarsman who 

 for weeks has been looking forward to his few days 

 of hard-earned leisure on the river, there is nothing 

 in the dictionary to paint in proper language his disgust 

 at the unspeakable season. None feels more keenly 

 than he the misery of long days of rain. There is no 

 man who knows better the full value of those rare 

 gleams of glorious weather that, when they come, make 

 life well worth the living. 



At least, that is your opinion when all the signs are 

 fair, when the glass is going up, and the sky is full of 

 promise. The cumbrous costume of the City is cheerfully 

 discarded. In an easy dress of flannel, untrammelled 

 by cuffs or collar, or the crowning abomination of a tall, 

 silk hat, you are standing by the river. The skiff is all 

 ready, taut and trim. With a fine show of indifference 

 you take your seat upon the thwart, but you cannot for 



