We thought he might, at least, have had it whitewashed or tarred--had _something_ done to it to distinguish it from a bit of a wreck; but he could not see any fault in it.
He even seemed offended at our remarks.

He said he had picked us out the best boat in all his stock, and he thought we might have been more grateful.
He said it, _The Pride of the Thames_, had been in use, just as it now stood (or rather as it now hung together), for the last forty years, to _his_ knowledge, and nobody had complained of it before, and he did not see why we should be the first to begin.
We argued no more.
We fastened the so-called boat together with some pieces of string, got a bit of wall-paper and pasted over the shabbier places, said our prayers, and stepped on board.
They charged us thirty-five shillings for the loan of the remnant for six days; and we could have bought the thing out-and-out for four-and-sixpence at any sale of drift-wood round the coast.
The weather changed on the third day,--Oh! I am talking about our present trip now,--and we started from Oxford upon our homeward journey in the midst of a steady drizzle.
The river--with the sunlight flashing from its dancing wavelets, gilding gold the grey-green beech-trunks, glinting through the dark, cool wood paths, chasing shadows o'er the shallows, flinging diamonds from the mill-wheels, throwing kisses to the lilies, wantoning with the weirs' white waters, silvering moss-grown walls and bridges, brightening every tiny townlet, making sweet each lane and meadow, lying tangled in the rushes, peeping, laughing, from each inlet, gleaming gay on many a far sail, making soft the air with glory--is a golden fairy stream.
But the river--chill and weary, with the ceaseless rain-drops falling on its brown and sluggish waters, with a sound as of a woman, weeping low in some dark chamber; while the woods, all dark and silent, shrouded in their mists of vapour, stand like ghosts upon the margin; silent ghosts with eyes reproachful, like the ghosts of evil actions, like the ghosts of friends neglected--is a spirit-haunted water through the land of vain regrets.
Sunlight is the life-blood of Nature.

Mother Earth looks at us with such dull, soulless eyes, when the sunlight has died away from out of her.

It makes us sad to be with her then; she does not seem to know us or to care for us.

She is as a widow who has lost the husband she loved, and her children touch her hand, and look up into her eyes, but gain no smile from her.
We rowed on all that day through the rain, and very melancholy work it was.