“Look at Miss Bagshaw,” said the artist to me.  “What a good girl she is!  I am so sorry for her!” Pity is kin to love, thought I, as I watched the beautiful girl move swiftly up to her father and mother, and in a moment all three moved quietly away.

“Who’s the old girl?” asked Captain O’Brien of Captain Kelly.

“The celebwated Mrs. Bagshaw, wife of Colonel Bagshaw.  She was a gweat singer or something not very long ago.  Very wich, Tom; chance for you, you know; only daughter, rather a pwetty girl, not much style, father-in-law and mother-in-law not desiwable, devil of a wow, wampageous, both of them!”

“How much?” “Say twenty thou.”  “Can’t be done at the pwice.”  “Don’t know that—­lunatic asylums—­go abroad—­that sort of thing—–­young lady chawming!” “Ah!”

“What do you say to a row in the old four oar?” said Harry Barton.  “With all my heart,” said I.  “Let us make up a party.  The Delameres will go, the two young ladies and Thornton.  Don’t let’s have the mother, she jaws so confoundedly.  Go and ask Mrs. Bagshaw and her daughter to make things proper.”

“All right!  Thornton shall steer; you three; I stroke; Glenville two; Hawkstone bow, to look out ahead and see all safe.”  And off he went to ask Mrs. Bagshaw, who was now all smiles and sunshine, and managed very cleverly to secure the two Misses Delamere and Thornton without the mamma.  And so we all went down to the harbour, where we found Hawkstone looking out for our party as usual.

CHAPTER IV.—­BOATING.

“Muscular Christianity is very great!” said the Archangel.  “The devil it is!” said Satan, “see how I will deal with it!” In the days of Job he said, “Touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face”—­

   “But Satan now is wiser than of yore,
   And tempts by making strong, not making poor.”

Muscular Christianity was at one time the cant phrase.  Can we even now talk of Christian muscularity?  For my part I think an Eton lad or a Camford man is a sight for gods and fishes.  The glory of his neck-tie is terrible.  He saith among the cricket balls, Ha, ha, and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thud of the oars and the shouting.  I suppose the voice of the people is the voice of God; but let a thing once become fashionable and the devil steps in and leads the dance.  When Lady Somebody, or Sir John Nobody, gives away the prizes at the county athletic sports, amid the ringing cheers of the surrounding ladies and gentlemen, I suspect the recipient, in nine times out of ten, is little better than an obtainer of goods by false pretences.  When that ardent youth, Tommy Leapwell, brings home a magnificent silver goblet for the “high jump,” what a fuss is made of it and of him both at home and in the newspapers; whereas when that exemplary young student, Mugger, after a term’s hard labour, receives as a reward a volume of Macaulay’s Essays, in calf, price two and sixpence, very little is said about the matter; and, at all events, the dismal circumstance is not mentioned outside the family circle.