THREE ME&L 13^ Ji TUB 125 



the life of you resist a thrill of pleasure as once more 

 your fingers tighten on the sculls. 



You are alone. You will pick up your less fortunate 

 comrades farther on. They cannot get away so soon. 

 And as in the late afternoon you pull easily down the 

 noble stream^ all thoughts of the steady-going, money- 

 making, work-a-day world seem to vanish into air. At 

 every turn you are reminded of some happy memory. 

 You begin to breathe again the free life of the river. 

 You smile as you recall its bygone hours of song and 

 mirth and laughter. How pleasant over the tall fringe 

 of reeds are the glimpses of old-world villages seen 

 across their level fields their roofs of brown thatch, 

 their quaint church towers, the smoke of their evening 

 fires blue against their noble trees ! How fair the low 

 green meadows, newly mown, with a suspicion of hay 

 still lingering on the hedges where the great waggons 

 have rumbled down the lane ! 



From the tall elms along the shore float the soft 

 voices of the doves ; and, as you drift down with noiseless 

 oar, your presence hardly startles the little troops of 

 moorhens paddling leisurely across the stream. You 

 see the brown leaves of weed under the clear cool water 

 sway softly as you pass. You watch the sand-martins 

 dip by hundreds in the tranquil river. You see the 

 wild-duck drifting over, dark against the glowing sky ; 

 you hear the night-jar churring among the beeches on 

 the hill. It is a perfect evening. No breath of wind is 

 stirring in the reeds. Quiet sky, warm air, peaceful 

 river. 



