LOCKS. - GEORGE AND I ARE PHOTOGRAPHED. - WALLINGFORD. - DORCHESTER. -ABINGDON. - A FAMILY MAN. - A GOOD SPOT FOR DROWNING. - A DIFFICULT BITOF WATER. - DEMORALIZING EFFECT OF RIVER AIR.

　　WE left Streatley early the next morning, and pulled up to Culham, andslept under the canvas, in the backwater there.

　　The river is not extraordinarily interesting between Streatley andWallingford. From Cleve you get a stretch of six and a half mileswithout a lock. I believe this is the longest uninterrupted stretchanywhere above Teddington, and the Oxford Club make use of it for theirtrial eights.

　　But however satisfactory this absence of locks may be to rowing-men, itis to be regretted by the mere pleasure-seeker.

　　For myself, I am fond of locks. They pleasantly break the monotony ofthe pull. I like sitting in the boat and slowly rising out of the cooldepths up into new reaches and fresh views; or sinking down, as it were,out of the world, and then waiting, while the gloomy gates creak, and thenarrow strip of day-light between them widens till the fair smiling riverlies full before you, and you push your little boat out from its briefprison on to the welcoming waters once again.

　　They are picturesque little spots, these locks. The stout old lock-keeper, or his cheerful-looking wife, or bright-eyed daughter, arepleasant folk to have a passing chat with. * You meet other boats there,and river gossip is exchanged. The Thames would not be the fairyland itis without its flower-decked locks.

　　* Or rather WERE. The Conservancy of late seems to have constituteditself into a society for the employment of idiots. A good many of thenew lock-keepers, especially in the more crowded portions of the river,are excitable, nervous old men, quite unfitted for their post.

　　Talking of locks reminds me of an accident George and I very nearly hadone summer's morning at Hampton Court.

　　It was a glorious day, and the lock was crowded; and, as is a commonpractice up the river, a speculative photographer was taking a picture ofus all as we lay upon the rising waters.

　　I did not catch what was going on at first, and was, therefore, extremelysurprised at noticing George hurriedly smooth out his trousers, ruffle uphis hair, and stick his cap on in a rakish manner at the back of hishead, and then, assuming an expression of mingled affability and sadness,sit down in a graceful attitude, and try to hide his feet.

　　My first idea was that he had suddenly caught sight of some girl he knew,and I looked about to see who it was. Everybody in the lock seemed tohave been suddenly struck wooden. They were all standing or sittingabout in the most quaint and curious attitudes I have ever seen off aJapanese fan. All the girls were smiling. Oh, they did look so sweet!

　　And all the fellows were frowning, and looking stern and noble.

　　And then, at last, the truth flashed across me, and I wondered if Ishould be in time. Ours was the first boat, and it would be unkind of meto spoil the man's picture, I thought.

　　So I faced round quickly, and took up a position in the prow, where Ileant with careless grace upon the hitcher, in an attitude suggestive ofagility and strength. I arranged my hair with a curl over the forehead,and threw an air of tender wistfulness into my expression, mingled with atouch of cynicism, which I am told suits me.

　　As we stood, waiting for the eventful moment, I heard someone behind callout:

　　"Hi! look at your nose."I could not turn round to see what was the matter, and whose nose it wasthat was to be looked at. I stole a side-glance at George's nose! Itwas all right - at all events, there was nothing wrong with it that couldbe altered. I squinted down at my own, and that seemed all that could beexpected also.

　　"Look at your nose, you stupid ass!" came the same voice again, louder.

　　And then another voice cried:

　　"Push your nose out, can't you, you - you two with the dog!"Neither George nor I dared to turn round. The man's hand was on the cap,and the picture might be taken any moment. Was it us they were callingto? What was the matter with our noses? Why were they to be pushed out!

　　But now the whole lock started yelling, and a stentorian voice from theback shouted:

　　"Look at your boat, sir; you in the red and black caps. It's your twocorpses that will get taken in that photo, if you ain't quick."We looked then, and saw that the nose of our boat had got fixed under thewoodwork of the lock, while the in-coming water was rising all around it,and tilting it up. In another moment we should be over. Quick asthought, we each seized an oar, and a vigorous blow against the side ofthe lock with the butt-ends released the boat, and sent us sprawling onour backs.

　　We did not come out well in that photograph, George and I. Of course, aswas to be expected, our luck ordained it, that the man should set hiswretched machine in motion at the precise moment that we were both lyingon our backs with a wild expression of "Where am I? and what is it?" onour faces, and our four feet waving madly in the air.

　　Our feet were undoubtedly the leading article in that photograph.

　　Indeed, very little else was to be seen. They filled up the foregroundentirely. Behind them, you caught glimpses of the other boats, and bitsof the surrounding scenery; but everything and everybody else in the locklooked so utterly insignificant and paltry compared with our feet, thatall the other people felt quite ashamed of themselves, and refused tosubscribe to the picture.

　　The owner of one steam launch, who had bespoke six copies, rescinded theorder on seeing the negative. He said he would take them if anybodycould show him his launch, but nobody could. It was somewhere behindGeorge's right foot.

　　There was a good deal of unpleasantness over the business. Thephotographer thought we ought to take a dozen copies each, seeing thatthe photo was about nine-tenths us, but we declined. We said we had noobjection to being photo'd full-length, but we preferred being taken theright way up.

　　Wallingford, six miles above Streatley, is a very ancient town, and hasbeen an active centre for the making of English history. It was a rude,mud-built town in the time of the Britons, who squatted there, until theRoman legions evicted them; and replaced their clay-baked walls by mightyfortifications, the trace of which Time has not yet succeeded in sweepingaway, so well those old-world masons knew how to build.

　　But Time, though he halted at Roman walls, soon crumbled Romans to dust;and on the ground, in later years, fought savage Saxons and huge Danes,until the Normans came.

　　It was a walled and fortified town up to the time of the ParliamentaryWar, when it suffered a long and bitter siege from Fairfax. It fell atlast, and then the walls were razed.

　　From Wallingford up to Dorchester............