CHAPTER IITHE OXFORD MEADOWS

STREATLEY INN

Hotels on the river have, in the last few years, awakened to the cry of the middle classes for air and light, and yet more air. Some of the hotels are pretty with verandahs and creeper covered walls, but others are old-fashioned—with low rooms. Yet every proprietor who can by hook or crook manage it, now runs a lawn of exquisiteturf down to the water's edge, decorates it with flowers far more vivid than can be seen elsewhere, and knocks up a bungalow-like building, terribly desolate in the winter when the green mould creeps insidiously over the wooden posts, and the sail-cloth rots in the damp; but airy and commodious in the summer, when relays of fifty people or more may be seated at a time, and yet there is no satiating smell of cooked food. The boat owners have also seen fit to accommodate their convenience to the demand, and at any large builder's landing-stage, boats may now be hired to be left almost anywhere on the river, to be fetched back by the owner.

Pessimists say that the river is losing its charm, that the advent of motor cars, stirring in people a hitherto dormant love of speed, makes the slow progress of punting a weariness instead of a relaxation. But this is not greatly to be feared. The charm of a motor is one thing, the charm of the river another; and we cannot spare either. Crowds may slightly diminish, but this is no loss, rather a gain to the real river lover.

Thames gardens are peculiar. By the nature of the case they must be far more public than ordinary gardens, for the owner's reason forbuying the house was that he wanted to sit on his own green turf and see the river flow endlessly past. Therefore, though he may hedge around the three land sides with high walls and impenetrable thorns, he leaves the fourth side open so that all the world may look. No one has yet been clever enough to invent a screen that shall be transparent on one side and opaque on the other, and until they do, the owners of these beautiful river lawns must sit in the full light that beats upon the river banks, and allow every passing stranger who has raked up a shilling to hire a boat, to enjoy the beauties of a garden he has not paid for. Thames lawns are celebrated, and rightly so. Not even the turf of college quads, grown for hundreds of years, can beat their turf. Thick, smooth, closely woven they are, and above all, of a pure rich green that is a delight to see, and, by way of enhancing this marvellous green, the colour which is most often to be seen with it is its complementary colour, red. Whether the effect is obtained merely by contrast I do not know, but certainly it seems as if nowhere else could be found geraniums of so rich a vermilion, roses of so glorious a crimson. In many of these river gardens, too, especially where a little streamtrickles down, a light trellis arch is thrown up and covered with Rambler roses, old rose in colour, and only second to the vermilion as a complement to the green lawn.

Two of these gloriously green lawns I have particularly in mind, one at Shepperton, and one near Thames Ditton, but where they are to be seen so frequently it is invidious to particularise.

These are the private gardens of a grand sort, and no whit less beautiful, though without the same expanse of lawn, are the gardens of the lock-keepers, in which the owners take a particular pride.

Soon will the musk carnations break and swell,Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon,Sweet-william with his homely cottage smell,And stocks in fragrant blow;Roses, that down the alleys shine afar,And open, jasmine-muffled lattices.—M. Arnold.

Soon will the musk carnations break and swell,

Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon,

Sweet-william with his homely cottage smell,

And stocks in fragrant blow;

Roses, that down the alleys shine afar,

And open, jasmine-muffled lattices.

—M. Arnold.

But in taking count of Thames's decorations we are not confined to gardens. Among the flowers growing wild on the river banks we have no lack of choice. It is a pretty conceit of Drayton's, to make his bridal pair, Thame and Isis, travel to meet one another along pathsflower-decked by willing nymphs. Old Thame, as the man, was to have only wild flowers, not those "to gardens that belong":

The primrose placing first because that in the springIt is the first appears, then only flourishing,The azured harebell next, with them they neatly mix'd,T'allay whose luscious smell, they woodbind plac'd betwixt.Amongst those things of scent, there prick they in the lily;And near to that again her sister daffodilly.To sort these flowers of show with th' other that were sweetThe cowslip then they couch, and th' oxlip, for her meet,The columbine amongst they sparingly do set,The yellow king-cup wrought in many a curious fret,And now and then among, of eglantine a spray,By which again a course of lady smocks they layThe crow flower, and thereby the clover-flower they stick.The daisie over all those sundry sweets so thick;The crimson darnel flowers, the blue-bottle and goldWhich, though esteemed but weeds, yet for their dainty huesAnd for their scent not ill, they for this purpose choose.

The primrose placing first because that in the spring

It is the first appears, then only flourishing,

The azured harebell next, with them they neatly mix'd,

T'allay whose luscious smell, they woodbind plac'd betwixt.

Amongst those things of scent, there prick they in the lily;

And near to that again her sister daffodilly.

To sort these flowers of show with th' other that were sweet

The cowslip then they couch, and th' oxlip, for her meet,

The columbine amongst they sparingly do set,

The yellow king-cup wrought in many a curious fret,

And now and then among, of eglantine a spray,

By which again a course of lady smocks they lay

The crow flower, and thereby the clover-flower they stick.

The daisie over all those sundry sweets so thick;

The crimson darnel flowers, the blue-bottle and goldWhich, though esteemed but weeds, yet for their dainty huesAnd for their scent not ill, they for this purpose choose.

The crimson darnel flowers, the blue-bottle and gold

Which, though esteemed but weeds, yet for their dainty hues

And for their scent not ill, they for this purpose choose.

The "luscious smell" cannot refer to the harebell, which has a very faint perfume; besides, it is difficult to think of the harebell in this connection, for it is a full summer flower, while all the rest belong to spring: Drayton must, therefore, mean the wild hyacinth, which is still often called the bluebell by people in England, though in Scotland this name is correctly reserved for the harebell. The "luscious smell" exactlydescribes the rich, rather cloying scent of the hyacinth. There has been some discussion as to what is meant by the eglantine, which the old poets are so fond of mentioning. In Milton it means the honeysuckle, but in the others probably the sweetbriar; while woodbine is either the twining clematis, the "traveller's joy"—rather a misnomer, by-the-way, as it is an insignificant and disappointing flower—or the honeysuckle.

Isis was gay with garden flowers:

... The brave carnation then,With th' other of his kind, the speckled and the pale,Then th' odoriferous pink, that sends forth such a galeOf sweetness, yet in scents as various as in sorts.The purple violet then, the pansy there supportsThe marygold above t' adorn the arched bar;The double daisie, thrift, the button bachelor,Sweet-william, sops-in-wine, the campion, and to theseSome lavender they put with rosemary and bays.

... The brave carnation then,

With th' other of his kind, the speckled and the pale,

Then th' odoriferous pink, that sends forth such a gale

Of sweetness, yet in scents as various as in sorts.

The purple violet then, the pansy there supports

The marygold above t' adorn the arched bar;

The double daisie, thrift, the button bachelor,

Sweet-william, sops-in-wine, the campion, and to these

Some lavender they put with rosemary and bays.

To make a catalogue of the flowers which may be found on the Thames banks at the present day would be out of place here, yet there are one or two plants so frequently seen that they may be mentioned. Among these are the purple loose-strife, with its tapering, richly coloured spikes, standing sometimes as high as four feet, and occasionally mistaken for a foxglove; the pink-flowered willow-herb; the wild mustard orcherlock, with its sulphur yellow blossoms, and creeping-jenny. The bog-bean, or buck-bean, with white lace-like flowers may be seen occasionally in stagnant swamps. The water-violet, which, however, is not in the least like a violet, is also to be found in the tributary ditches, as well as the tall yellow iris; the flowering rush and the bur-reeds often form details in a river picture. In the lock gardens herbaceous borders, full of phlox, sweet-william, stocks, valerian, big white lilies, and, later, red hot pokers, sunflowers, and hollyhocks, are ordinary sights. In the meadows near Oxford fritillaries, otherwise called snakes'-heads, are seen abundantly in spring, but these and other flowers shall be mentioned more particularly in connection with the places where they grow.

It remains but to end with the aspiration of Denham:

O could I flow like thee, and make thy streamMy great example as it is my theme!Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;Strong, without rage; without o'erflowing full.

O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream

My great example as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;

Strong, without rage; without o'erflowing full.

This account of the river may well begin at Folly Bridge, seeing it is folly in any case to attempt to cut off a section of a river, and, as before explained, our course from Oxford to London is peculiarly arbitrary, for the Thames proper does not begin till below Dorchester, and at Oxford the river is the Isis. Having thus disarmed criticism, without further explanation or apology, we stand upon Folly Bridge, whichis a little way above the end of the course for both Torpids and Eights.

To the left are the college barges, resplendent in many colours, with their slender flagstaffs rising against a background of the shady trees that border Christchurch meadows. The reach of water beside them is alive with boats, and the oars rise and dip with the regularity of the legs of a monster centipede. The barges should be seen in Eights week, when they are in their glory, occupied by the mothers, sisters, and aunts of the undergraduates, dressed in costumes that in mass look like brilliant flower-beds.

To see the bridge properly, however, it is necessary to go down to the tow-path and look back at it, when its quaint, foreign appearance can be better estimated. It stands across an island on which is the renowned Salter's boat-house, and its solidity and the tall houses near it, which throw black shadows in the yellow sunlight, make it look not unlike a corner in Venice.

Following the river down, we see on the Oxford side the narrow mouth of the meandering Cherwell under a white arched bridge. The most delightful place for "lazing" in a boat is the Cherwell, shady and not too wide; deliciously cool in theheight of the summer, so rich is the foliage of the over-arching trees. Lower down is the New Cut, destined to relieve the Cherwell of its superfluous water in flood time and so prevent the flooding of the Christchurch meadows. Opposite the mouth of the New Cut is the University Boat-house, and further down, where a branch of the river runs off to the right, are the bathing places. This branch is crossed by a bridge, and it makes the next strip of land an island. The place is known as the Long Bridges. The river narrows at the point, and the narrowed part is called The Gut; just below a tributary from the Cherwell, known as the Freshman's river, dribbles into the Thames. It is at The Gut that the most exciting scenes in the races generally happen. As everyone knows, Torpids are in the fourth and fifth weeks after the beginning of the Lent term, and as they are not of so much importance as the Eights, and as the weather does not lend itself to open-air festivities, they are generally watched only by a shivering handful of spectators who have a more or less personal interest in them. The Eights, which take place in the middle of the summer term, are the event of the year to Oxford, and intensely exciting they may be. The lowest boat startsfrom the lasher above Iffley, and the course ends at Salter's Barge. But the crux of the whole matter often lies in The Gut, and much depends on the ability of the cox to steer a clean course, as to whether his boat is bumped or bumps. As the boats in cutting the curve below this crucial point come diagonally at it, disaster here often overtakes a crew which has before been doing well. The aforesaid narrow channel from the Cherwell is navigable only in a canoe and by good luck; but the tale is told that one cox, in his first year, being excited beyond reason, mistook it for the main channel, and, steering right ahead, landed his crew high and dry on the shoals. Hence the name, the Freshman's river.

IFFLEY

Here are two pictures, taken from life, which express the difference between the two occasions:

The Eights: Brilliant blue sky above, glinting blue water beneath. Down across Christchurch meadow troops a butterfly crowd, flaunting brilliant parasols and chattering gaily to the "flannelled fools" who form the escort. Despite the laughter it is a solemn occasion, for the college boat that is head of the river may be going to be bumped this afternoon, and, if so, the bump will surely take place in front of the barges. The only question is, before which barge will it happen? When the exciting moment draws near, chatter ceases, a tense stillness holds the crowd in thrall; the relentless pursuers creep on steadily, narrowing the gap between themselves and the first boat, and finally bump it exactly opposite its own barge! A moment's pause. The completeness of the triumph is too impressive to be grasped at once; then—pandemonium! Pistol-shots, rattles, hoots, yells, shrieks of joy, wildly waving parasols, and groans.The Torpids: A raw cold February day; a leaden sky heavy with snow; dimly seen figures scudding over the frozen meadows of Iffley; the river itself is almost frost-bound, and the men waiting in the boats for the starting gun look blue and pinched. They must find these last ten seconds hard to endure. Nine, eight, seven, six—ugh! will it never go? At last! And, as the signal sounds, the oars strike the water with a splash, and the boats shoot off and begin the long tussle against a head wind and that strong stream which always makes the Torpids a harder matter than the Eights rowed in summer water. It is too late to follow them, so heigh-ho for the King's Arms Hotel at Sandford, and a cup of the good hot tea that the landlady knows so well how to make!

The Torpids: A raw cold February day; a leaden sky heavy with snow; dimly seen figures scudding over the frozen meadows of Iffley; the river itself is almost frost-bound, and the men waiting in the boats for the starting gun look blue and pinched. They must find these last ten seconds hard to endure. Nine, eight, seven, six—ugh! will it never go? At last! And, as the signal sounds, the oars strike the water with a splash, and the boats shoot off and begin the long tussle against a head wind and that strong stream which always makes the Torpids a harder matter than the Eights rowed in summer water. It is too late to follow them, so heigh-ho for the King's Arms Hotel at Sandford, and a cup of the good hot tea that the landlady knows so well how to make!

The channel running past the bathing places is equally unsuited for navigation, and is moreover guarded by two mills, but it may be negotiated with the aforesaid element of good luck. Hinksey Stream flows into this backwater, and there are several places, after shoals have been avoided or surmounted, where it is extremely pleasant to while away an idle hour. By means of the Long Bridges and the lock at Iffley it is possible to get across the river from side to side diagonally. Passing on down stream we soon come to Iffley. In the meantime we can see many of the pinnaclesand spires and domes for which Oxford is famous, and marvellous is the way in which they appear to swing round as we change our position. The part of new Oxford which lines the Iffley road behind the meadows is not attractive, but when we come in sight of Iffley itself we may well exclaim that it would be hard to find a sweeter spot. There are stone walls, thatched cottages and farmyards, hay and orchards, elms, alders, and silver-stemmed birches; in consequence a quiet, rural atmosphere broods over all. The cows feed down to the edge of the river, and swallows dart about overhead, while perhaps a man paddling a canoe shoots up and away again, his white flannels and the strength and grace of his movement irresistibly recalling a swan. The mill, half stone, half wooden cased, is very ancient; the massive foundations have become like rock from their long immersion in the running water. There is a great quiet pool behind the lock island, and here and there a glimpse may be caught of the square tower of the famous church, which is not far off, but is well hidden by trees.

Iffley Church takes rank with Stewkley as the most beautiful example of a Norman church remaining to us out of London. It is, like so many Norman churches, very small and very solid.And it must yield to Stewkley in the fact that its architecture is not pure. Yet its massive central tower and its fine windows place it very high indeed. Its date is not certainly known, but is supposed to be between 1160 and 1170. "The interior seems at first sight curious. There are, in fact, two chancels, one behind the other. The further one is early English work, and is much lighter in style than the rest of the building, and the east end is disappointing. This may have been added to lengthen the church. In the bay next to it, where the choir now sit, there are fourteenth century windows inserted under Norman arches, showing that the walls were of the earlier date. These windows were added by John de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, in the latter half of the sixteenth century. There is a groined roof, and the piers are beautifully decorated. The arches supporting the tower are richly moulded, almost incongruously so in regard to the massive type of the masonry, which points to early Norman. The Perpendicular windows inserted in the north and south walls are good. It is only at the extreme west end that the Norman windows remain untouched. The font is of black marble, and is very curious. The triple west-end window, a splendid specimen, is best seenfrom the churchyard. Its moulding is very rich, and this alone would be sufficient to make Iffley rank high among ancient churches. Below it is a circular window inserted about 1858 on the supposed plan of a former one of which traces were found. The impossibility of approaching the style of the old work in modern times was never more strikingly shown. Below is a fine doorway with beak-head and billet moulding, worthy to be classed with the triple window. A very ancient yew stands on the south side of the church, and near it is the slender shaft of an old cross. The rectory house, dating from Tudor times, is a fine addition to the picturesque group."—Guide to the Thames.

Between Iffley and Sandford the famous Oxford meadows are seen at their best. In the summer they are gemmed with countless flowers, so that they rival the celebrated Swiss pastures. Prominent among these is the fritillary:

I know what white, what purple fritillariesThe grassy harvest of the river-fields,Above by Ensham, down by Sandford yields,And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries.—M. Arnold.

I know what white, what purple fritillariesThe grassy harvest of the river-fields,Above by Ensham, down by Sandford yields,And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries.

I know what white, what purple fritillaries

The grassy harvest of the river-fields,

Above by Ensham, down by Sandford yields,

And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries.

—M. Arnold.

Mr. G. Claridge Druce, the well-known botanist, who has made a special study of the ThamesValley and Oxfordshire, says:—"The Thames from Oxford to Sandford flows through meadows rich with fritillaries, its banks are bordered with the sweet-scented Acorus, and its waters are inhabited by Potamogeton prœlongus, flabellatus, and compressus, Zannichellia macrostemon, Œnanthe fluviatilis, &c., and near Sandford appears, for the first time in the river's course, the lovely Leucojum æstivum." This is the flower better known as the summer snowflake, which we shall meet again. The above are only a tithe of the flowers which Mr. Druce mentions. Among others which may be recognised are the yellow iris, the cuckoo flower, the water villarsia, the purple orchis, and the willow weed. In the spring the marsh mallow is the first to appear with a vivid glory as of sunshine. The banks are flat and low, and, except for the flowers, uninteresting; nevertheless this is a useful part of the river, especially for sailing. Some college fours are rowed here. Passing under the railway line we see the pink-washed walls of the Swan Hotel, which stands on Kennington Island, connected with the mainland by a bridge; and then we come to Sandford itself, with charms almost as great as, though entirely different from, those of Iffley.The approach is disappointing. The tall mill chimney and the new brick houses are bare and ugly. The mill is a paper mill, and supplies the Clarendon Press. It stands close to the old-fashioned and pretty hotel, so completely ivy-covered that even one of the tall chimneys is quite overgrown. When close to the lock the mill is not noticeable and has the advantage of affording some shelter. As at Iffley, one can get right across from bank to bank by means of bridges, a most charming method that might well be adopted in other parts of the river. Indeed, near Oxford one great delight is the freedom from interference. Everyone is allowed full liberty; you may ride your bicycle along the tow-path, take it across locks, or even walk it by the side of the meadows, without any rebuke. Having put up a notice that they are not responsible for the condition of the tow-path and that people use it at their own risk, the Conservancy leave the matter alone. The islands at Sandford are rather complicated, and there are a couple of weirs, beneath which the water frills out over mossy stones into deep, shady pools. The fishing here is as good as any on the river. The Radley College boat-house and bathing place are near the lower pool, thecollege itself being rather more than a mile away. In spring these pools, with their broken banks of brown earth and their masses of scented white hawthorn, are most beautiful. The shy white violets hide in the grass near the weirs, and are found by only a few who know where to seek them.

RADLEY COLLEGE BOAT-HOUSE

In the Oxford zone we must include the woods at Nuneham Courtney, which, by the courtesy of the owner (Aubrey Harcourt), are open to undergraduates all Commemoration week and twice a week in the summer term; while the general public, after writing in advance, are allowed to picnic at the lock cottages two days a week from May to September. The Nuneham woods are on a ridge of greensand, and though they are not so high or at such a striking angle as those of Clieveden, they certainly have quite as great a charm. Anyone is allowed to walk through the park if it be approached from the road, but bicycles are not permitted. The lock cottages, which are a popular resort in the summer, stand beside a pretty wooden bridge which connects the islands with the mainland. Masses of wild roses and flowering clematis add their delicate touch to the beauty of the overhanging trees. Closeby the water is the Carfax monument, a conduit or fountain erected by Otho Nicholson, who set it up at the place still called Carfax in Oxford, whence it was removed to its present position in 1787. The woods contain nothing very striking in the way of trees, though all the commoner sorts, the beeches, oaks, horse-chestnuts, and so on, are well represented. There are about 400 acres of wood, which surround the park, where the oaks show well, standing apart from each other.

As a headquarters for boating, for those who want to dawdle and explore odd corners and have no desire to rush through as many locks as possible in a day, Abingdon makes a good centre. It is within easy reach of the part lying below the woods at Nuneham, and in the other direction is the Sutton Courtney backwater, which, Wargrave notwithstanding, is not to be beaten on the Thames. Further down again is Clifton Hampden, which attracts many people, and the river at Abingdonitself is by no means to be despised. The bridge, called Burford Bridge, is a real delight. It is old and irregular, with straggling arches, some rounded, some pointed; and all, even the highest, comparatively low down over the water, framing cool, dark shadows within the embrace of the mighty piers. The bridge cannot be seen in the glance of an eye. It is very long, and rests partly on an island. Standing on this, the Nag's Head Inn projects from one side of the bridge, and from it stretches out a small garden with several orchard trees. The red tiles and creamy tint of the hotel walls show well in contrast with the grey stone of the bridge, and when the hotel is seen from the river above the bridge, with the tall spire of St. Helen's Church rising behind it, it is worth noticing.

ABINGDON

There are bits of old wall lining the bank on the town side, and ivy grows freely over them. Many of the houses stand back from the water; a part of the ruined abbey and the long range of the abbot's residence can be seen between masses of blossom. The great exterior chimney of the abbey buildings should particularly be noticed. The blossom at Abingdon is a great feature, and one not to be found everywhere. Horse-chestnuts and holm oaks dip their boughs in the water, and fromthe branches arises a perfect chorus of birds. Abingdon has its chimneys, of course, as well as hideous buildings suited to modern requirements of business, but in the general view these things are lost sight of.

Burford is a corruption of Borough-ford, and before the building of the bridge in the fifteenth century, the ferry at Culham was the main means of communication with the other side of the river.

The range of Nuneham, below which runs the backwater called the Old River, can be seen to the south-east. If this ever was the main stream it must have been very long ago, for the memory of it is not recorded in any document now extant. The Old River is crossed by another bridge, and the two are linked by a straight road, made by Geoffrey Barbour at the same time as the building of the bridges. There is a picture of Barbour in the almshouses, and this shows the bridge being built in the background; while an illuminated copy of verses tells us:

King Herry the Fyft, in his fourthe yere,He hath i-founde for his folke a brige in Berkschire,For cartis with cariage may go and come clere,That many wynters afore were mareed in the myre.Culham hithe [wharf or landing] hath caused many a curse,I-blessed be our helpers we have a better waye,Without any peny for cart and for horse.

King Herry the Fyft, in his fourthe yere,

He hath i-founde for his folke a brige in Berkschire,

For cartis with cariage may go and come clere,

That many wynters afore were mareed in the myre.

Culham hithe [wharf or landing] hath caused many a curse,

I-blessed be our helpers we have a better waye,

Without any peny for cart and for horse.

Below Burford Bridge, the great bur-reeds grow near the islands. There is one delightful old house, formerly a malt house, with all sorts of odd angles and corners. It encloses a small terraced court, from which steps lead down to the water. It stands on the site of St. Helen's nunnery, founded about 690. Further on are some of the newer almshouses—a blot on the scene; and then a glimpse may be had of the wooden cloister of the old almshouses, which, in their way, are as pretty as those at Bray.

Christ's Hospital, as the almshouses are called, was founded in the reign of Edward VI. out of lands belonging to a dissolved Guild of the Holy Cross. The central hall dates, however, from 1400. It has a stone mullioned window and panelled walls; in the ceiling is a dome or cupola. Once a week eighty loaves of bread are here distributed among the poor people of the town, and when the loaves, with their crisp, flaky, yellow crust, stand in piles on the polished oak table, and the poor old people gather for their share, there is an old-world touch in the picture such as one does not often see nowadays. The cloister or arcade of dark wood outside is decorated with texts and proverbs on its inner wall. The newer almshouses, built in 1797,lack all the homeliness and interest of the older ones. The church of St. Helen's, which has a very tall spire, is close to the almshouses and the river, and is well worthy of its position. It has been much restored, but is mainly of sixteenth century work.

THE MILL AT ABINGDON

Of course there was an abbey at Abingdon, though whether the name of the town arose from that fact or from a proper name Aben or Æbba is doubtful. The earliest name of the town was the unpronounceable one of Seovechesham, and it was then a royal residence. The abbey was founded by Cissa about 675. It was destroyed by the Danes and reconstructed long before most places on the river had begun to have any history at all. The abbey rose to great importance and wealth. It held manors innumerable, and its abbot was a person to reckon with. Even at the date of Domesday Book the abbey held no less than thirty manors. But its power did not save it, and it suffered the common fate at the Dissolution. A gateway of about the fourteenth century and some ruins, which show where the dwellings of the monks stood, are all that remain, beside the guest-chamber—a large, barn-like building—and the almoner's residence. The latter has a magnificent fireplace andchimney. The ceiling of the room below is groined, and looks like that of a crypt, but this is said to have been the kitchen. The chief feature of interest is the huge chimney, which is like a room, and has little windows on each side; its size is best appreciated from the exterior view. The church has quite disappeared, for the little ancient church near the gateway was not the abbey church, but is supposed to have been at first a chapel of ease. In this there is some Norman work, including the west doorway, and it is probably of quite as ancient lineage as anything now remaining of the abbey.

Henry I. was sent by his father, as a lad of twelve, to be educated at Abingdon Abbey, and the learning by which he gained the name of Beauclerc shows that there must have been some able men here. The town hall in the market place at Abingdon is really a fine bit of work. It has been attributed to Inigo Jones, and stands over an open arcade, according to the style of town halls of the seventeenth century. The lock is a good way above Abingdon, and from it the millstream, as usual a pleasant backwater, flows right back to the town, enclosing a large island.

SUTTON COURTNEY BACKWATER

The lock at Culham is one of the least interestingon the river, and of the hundreds who pass through it only a few know that they are close to the very prettiest backwater on the Thames, namely Sutton Pool. There is one backwater at Sutton Courtney which can be reached from above Culham Lock. This leads to the mill, now disused, and runs along the top of the numerous weirs that pour into Sutton Pool itself. It is pretty also, and it is pleasant to see the meadows where the cows stand knee-deep in flowering plants, and the little square tower of the church peeping through the trees. This backwater is the best for landing to go to the village. Along the top of the weirs runs a path—a public right-of-way—which leads across the fields to Culham Lock, and anyone may land here and look down upon the pool; but to get right into it the lock must be passed, and some way further, after going under the bridge, we can turn the corner of a large island and retrace our way upstream until we come into the great pool, with its miniature bays and tumbling water. The weirs are high, and the streams come down with force, making a restless heave and swell when the river is full. The little tongues of land that divide one bay from another are shaded by willows, and the lush green grass grows here and there aroundtiny beaches of white sand. In spring, masses of hawthorn, "all frosted" with flowers, bend down from above, and the wild hyacinths break up between the blades of grass. Tall reeds form tiny islets, and perhaps a little moorhen flaps out. It is in secluded places like this that the dainty nest of the reed-warbler may be seen, swinging so lightly upon its supports that it is extraordinary to think that so large a bird as the cuckoo should dare to deposit its egg there. Yet reed-warblers and sedge-warblers are both among the cuckoo's victims. Unfortunately, in this little paradise landing is everywhere strictly forbidden, but no one can forbid enjoyment of the beauties which appeal to sight.

CLIFTON HAMPDEN FROM THE BRIDGE

The village of Sutton Courtney is certainly worth visiting. The village green, with its tall chestnuts, limes, and elms, is the very picture of what a green should be. The church is particularly interesting, for it is that rarity an unrestored building, with the old red-tiled floor and the rudeness of the original—so often smoothed away behind stencilling and paint—still left untouched. There is a shelf of chained books, a fine carved screen, and an altar-tomb of some interest. The manor house, which is not far off, is in a medley of styles,ranging from Norman to Jacobean. Malefactors are said to have been hanged from the stout oak beam which is still in good preservation. One wing is of perfect Jacobean work, with an overhanging storey decorated with carved pendants. A fine old building, half-way up the village, is called the Hall of Justice; this, however, may have a meaning less obvious than supposed at first sight, as the family of Justice held the manor for some generations.

In it there is a fine old Norman doorway. The owner has furnished the interior with tapestry hangings, etc., somewhat in accordance with what it may have looked like originally when in use. It certainly gives one an idea of the old Saxon or Norman style of dwelling before even the upper chamber orsolarcame into fashion.

The river at Clifton Hampden is not a couple of miles from the river at Nuneham Courtney, so great is the loop by Abingdon. It may be noted that the name Courtney, though spelt differently, is derived from the ownership of the Courtenays, Earls of Exeter, in both the instances above. Clifton Hampden is a great favourite with artists, for the church, with its little, pointed spire, stands on a cliff which has in parts broken away, showingthe rich yellow ochre of the soil. This makes up well in a "composition." The river sweeps round beneath it in a sort of little bay, and when white ducks dabble in the water and blue-pinafored children play beneath the yellow-ochre cliff, there is much to be said for it. The houses, too, are not without points. They are mostly thatched, and have their share of plants and creepers. The bridge is of red brick, and, with a little toning by weather, will make a capital accessory. But to my mind Clifton Hampden lacks that indefinable quality of charm found in such abundance elsewhere.

CLIFTON HAMPDEN

The island near Day's Lock, lying beneath the Wittenham Woods and Sinodun Hill, is particularly well kept and neat, and, in summer, bright with flowers. Standing on the end of the lock-keeper's island you can look straight up the weir, below which the river drifts away on each side of the island.

On the right bank, raised slightly above the river, is the church of Little Wittenham, with a long, narrow bastion turret adhering to its tower. Inside there is a handsome monument, one ofthose legacies from the ages that prove long descent. A warm belt of Scotch firs grows near.

Wittenham Woods lie under the shelter of the hill and close to the life-giving water. The trees grow well and form a home for countless birds of all kinds. "The hobby breeds there yearly. The wild pheasant, crow, sparrowhawk, kestrel, magpie, jay, ring-dove, brown owl, water-hen (on the river-bounded side); in summer the cuckoo and turtle-dove are all found there, and, with the exception of the pigeons and kestrels, which seek their food at a distance during the day, they seldom leave the shelter of its trees."—C. J. Cornish.

COTTAGES, DORCHESTER

Sinodun Hill, and its companion, Harp Hill, which is as like it as one twin to another, are sometimes called Wittenham Clumps. They are remarkable and conspicuous objects, rising abruptly and evenly from a very flat district, and they can be seen from many miles around, and, what is more curious, can be recognised. The smooth, rounded cone is so symmetrical that, whichever way you look at it, it seems the same, not changing its shape in the bewildering way of most hills; and the clump of trees placed so exactly on its crown is an unfailing river-mark. Sinodun is about 250 feet in height, and on it isa British earthwork, a triple line of entrenchment, with vallum and foss all round. The circumference of this on the outside is about a mile. Harp Hill has on it a tumulus called Brightwell Barrow. Then down below, close to Dorchester, is a double line of earthworks, much mutilated, but quite noticeable. No one knows the origin of these defences, which date far back into unhistorical days. Those on Sinodun are called British, while the others are supposed to be Roman. Roman camps were nearly always square, while British followed the windings of the hill.

Dorchester, with its cornfields and trees, its vegetable gardens, and its old houses bowed this way and that, is a very unsophisticated little place. The deep quiet of its village street, where the cottages glow all hues in the sunlight, from deep red ochre to egg-colour, brooded over by the long-backed abbey church, is a rest-cure in itself. The great yew trees, the pretty lych-gate, the old wooden porch, are all just what one would expect to find. Dorchester is not on the Thames, yet belongs to it certainly, for the Thame, which combines with the Isis to form the Thames, flows past it. As its name proclaims, Dorchester was once a Roman camp. Numerous Roman coinshave been found in the neighbourhood, and a Roman altar. It was also the seat of one of the first and largest bishoprics in England.

In 634 a monk of the order of St. Benedict, named Birinus, crossed to Britain to follow in the steps of St. Augustine and work as a missionary among the men of Wessex. He landed safely, and came to this part of the country, then in Wessex, which at that time stretched north of the Thames, though afterwards, when Mercia's power became great under King Offa, Dorchester fell within that kingdom. Birinus preached with so much effect that the King conferred upon him the office of bishop and gave him Dorchester for his residence. He died in 650 and was buried in his own church, though it is said his body was afterwards moved to Winchester.

WHITE HART HOTEL, DORCHESTER

The early bishopric was vast. It included what in our own day are the Sees of Bath and Wells, Exeter, Hereford, Lichfield, Lincoln, Salisbury, Worcester, and Winchester. There must have been a church in some degree adequate to the importance of such a charge, but it was probably of wood; in any case, nothing remains of it, though certain indications seem to show that it stood on the same site as the present one.

Dorchester was an important city, but its glory did not long remain, and the bishopric was ultimately split up into many Sees. In 1085 the seat of the See of Mercia was transferred to Lincoln. The abbey was founded here in 1140 for Augustinian monks, and it is the monks' church which still in great part exists. The long nave, with its red roof, is seen easily from the river, but the tower appears rather inadequate in height. On approaching, however, it is found to be of massive work. The interior of the church is wide and high, and gives that impression of bareness which is consistent with Norman work. In the east window is a great pier or transom which is supposed to have been originally intended as the support for a groined roof. The north chancel window is the famous Jesse window, with carved tracery, carrying figures all the way up the numerous branches. The lowest is that of Jesse, from whom spring all the subsequent ones. Very few figures are missing, considering the age of the window, and the carving is remarkably interesting. It is supposed that the figures of the Virgin and Child were at one time above that of the patriarch, but were removed at the Reformation. The rich green glass in the sedilia on theother side of the chancel should be noted. It is unusual to see sedilia pierced. Two of the nave arches are plain Norman work. A rood door remains, and there are one or two handsome altar tombs; also a leaden font, well moulded, and, on the east wall of the south aisle, there are some remains of frescoes. Close to the porch outside is a graceful shaft with a "restored" head.

The Thame we have already spoken of. Its arching trees and corners, and deep shady alleys, make it a delightful place for an idler. It runs close by the abbey church.

DORCHESTER BACKWATER

In the river near Dorchester grow the sweet sedge and the amphibious yellow cress, and on the banks may be found the blue pimpernel.

Wallingford boasts of having the oldest corporation in England, preceding that of London by a hundred years, and its record certainly reaches very far back. In 1006 it was destroyed by the Danes. William the Conqueror rested here on his way to London after the battle of Hastings. The town was then held by Wigod, a noble Saxon, who lived in his great fortress-castle. His son-in-law was Robert D'Oyley, who built the castle at Oxford, and rebuilt andgreatly strengthened that at Wallingford. From the part of the river above the bridge a tree-grown mound can be seen, and, further back, a comparatively modern house. On the mound once stood the strong castle, and the modern house is its present-day representative. The grounds are famous for their trees, and particularly for their evergreens, which grow thickly on the slopes of what was once the inner castle moat, for there were no less than three. No wonder Queen Maud felt that in reaching Wallingford in safety after her terrible escape over the frozen meadows of Oxford, she once more held the lead in the game she and Stephen played for the crown. Stephen, however, was not daunted. He settled down at Crowmarsh across the river, and made strenuous attempts to take the fortress. After a long time, when the garrison were beginning to despair, the Queen's son Henry came to the rescue with a force sufficient to afford relief. It was at Wallingford the treaty was made which eventually secured Henry's succession. The castle was given to Piers Gaveston by Edward II., but after the fall of Gaveston it reverted to the Crown. Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent, wife of the Black Prince, died here in 1385, and later, in the Civil Wars between King andParliament, Wallingford held stoutly to the Stuarts. The town was the last place in Berkshire which remained to the King, and it was taken in July, 1646, after a siege of sixty-five days. Cromwell, therefore, cherished a grudge against it, and when he came into power he ordered the castle to be destroyed, an order which was unfortunately carried out. Not far away in the same grounds is a fragment of a ruined and ivy-grown tower. This is part of an ancient college of St. Nicholas founded by Edmund, second Earl of Cornwall, who died in 1300.

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