Three Men in a Boat

pper.-How to feel virtuous.-Wanted! a comfortably-appointed, well-drained desert island, neighbourh

s, and we had taken the boat from there, and it seemed that we were dragging fifty tons after us, and were walking forty miles. It wa

, somehow, we did not feel that we yearned for the picturesque nearly so much now as we had earlier in the day. A bit of water between a coal-barge and a gas-works would have quite satisfied us for that night. We did not want sce

said no; that we had better get the canvas up first, before it got quite dark, and while we could see wha

abstract. You took five iron arches, like gigantic croquet hoops, and fitted them up over the boat, an

an under-

hat any of us are alive to tell the tale. They were not hoops, they were demons. First they would not fit into their sockets at all, and we had to jump on them, and kick th

r and drown us. They had hinges in the middle, and, when we were not looking, they nipped us with these hinges in delicate parts of the body; and, while we were wre

one end over the nose of the boat. Harris stood in the middle to take it from George and roll it on to me, and I kept by the stern t

tely rolled up in it. He was so firmly wrapped round and tucked in and folded over, that he could not get out. He, of course, made frantic struggles for freedom-the birthright of eve

and wait till the canvas came to me, and Montmorency and I stood there and waited, both as good as gold. We could see the canvas

essed that they were finding the job rather troublesome, and concluded tha

e and more involved, until, at last, George's head came

s

standing there like a stuffed mummy, when you

I went and undid them; not before it was time,

he decks, and got out supper. We put the kettle on to boil, up in the nose of the boat, and went do

us, it will never even sing. You have to go away and begin your meal, as if you were not going to have any tea

e any. You get near the kettle, so that it can overhear you, and then you shout out, "I don't want any tea; do you, George?" to which George shou

that, by the time everything else was ready, the tea was wa

ed that

clank of cutlery and crockery, and the steady grinding of four sets of molars. At the end of five-and-thirt

ncy gave the first sign of contentment he had exhibited since we had started, and rolled over on his side, and spread his legs out

ar conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more ea

r beefsteak and porter, it says, "Sleep!" After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don't let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, "Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tende

, or love, or life." And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, "Now, come, fool, grin and tumble, that your fellow-men may laugh-drivel in folly, a

antly your stomach, and diet it with care and judgment. Then virtue and contentment will come and reign within your heart,

beamed upon the dog, too. We loved each other, we loved everybody. Harris, in moving about, trod on George's corn. Had this happened before supper

d: "Steady, old m

o move about at all within ten yards of where George was sitting, suggesting that George never ought to come into an ordinary sized boat with feet that l

;" that it was his fault; an

e pretty to

at, looking out on the

peaceful lives, and doing good. I said it was the sort of thing I had often longed for myself; and we discussed th

, as far as he had heard, was that they were so

e. He said his father was travelling with another fellow through Wales, and, one night, they stopped at a littl

me room, but in different beds. They took the candle, and went up. The candle lurched up against the wall when they got into the room, and went out, and they had to undress and grope into bed in the dark. This they did; but, instead of getting into

r a moment, and then

oe

replied Joe's voice from

d," said George's father; "h

m," answered the other; "but I'm blest

ing to do?" aske

to chuck him ou

d George's fat

d by two heavy bumps on the floor,

ay,

es

ve you

the truth, my man

I don't think much

ame of that inn

histle," said

isn't the same,

u mean?" qu

ame thing happened to my father once at a country inn. I've often

at the door, and says it is half-past eight: but, to-night, everything seemed against me; the novelty of it all, the hardness of the boat, the cramped position (I was l

t I had swallowed a sovereign, and that they were cutting a hole in my back with a gimlet, so as to try and get it out. I thought it very unkind of them, and I told them I would owe them the money, and they should have it at the end of the month. But they would not he

the cool night-air. I slipped on what clothes I could find about-some of my ow

if, in the silence and the hush, while we her children slept, they were talking with her, their sister

im-lit temple of the god they have been taught to worship but know not; and, standing where the echoing dome span

been so full of evil and of bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and t

nnot ease our aching; she takes our hand in hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and, borne on her dark wings, we pass for a moment into a migh

ok upon that wondrous light; and they, when they retur

briars grew very thick and strong, and tore the flesh of them that lost their way therein. And the leaves of the trees that

issing his comrades, wandered far away, and returned to them no more; a

at in cheerful ease around the logs that burned in the great hall, and drank a loving measure, there came the comrade they had lost, and greeted the

them how in the dark wood he had lost his way, and had wandered many

on the darkness of the wood there dawned a light such as the light of day was unto but as a little lamp unto the sun; and, in that wondrous light, our way-worn knight saw as in a dream a visi

und, thanked the good saint who into that sad wood had stra

ow; but of the vision that the good knig