Resplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man-of-war's man's shirt on--or off, according to opinion--and his arms and breast tattooed all sorts of patterns.

Lobley seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr.Tartar; yet their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them.

Mr.
Tartar talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who was really doing nothing, and to Mr.Grewgious who was doing this much that he steered all wrong; but what did that matter, when a turn of Mr.Tartar's skilful wrist, or a mere grin of Mr.Lobley's over the bow, put all to rights! The tide bore them on in the gayest and most sparkling manner, until they stopped to dine in some ever-lastingly-green garden, needing no matter-of-fact identification here; and then the tide obligingly turned--being devoted to that party alone for that day; and as they floated idly among some osier-beds, Rosa tried what she could do in the rowing way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted; and Mr.
Grewgious tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up with an oar under his chin, being not assisted at all.

Then there was an interval of rest under boughs (such rest!) what time Mr.Lobley mopped, and, arranging cushions, stretchers, and the like, danced the tight-rope the whole length of the boat like a man to whom shoes were a superstition and stockings slavery; and then came the sweet return among delicious odours of limes in bloom, and musical ripplings; and, all too soon, the great black city cast its shadow on the waters, and its dark bridges spanned them as death spans life, and the everlastingly-green garden seemed to be left for everlasting, unregainable and far away.
[Picture: Up the river] 'Cannot people get through life without gritty stages, I wonder ?' Rosa thought next day, when the town was very gritty again, and everything had a strange and an uncomfortable appearance of seeming to wait for something that wouldn't come.

NO.