[Original]
[Original]
The "Torpids" are rowed in March—you will appreciate this fact if you are rowing "bow" and a hailstorm comes on—in eight-oared boats with fixed seats. The name bestowed on them seems a little unkind. The "Eights" come off in the summer term, when sliding seats are used—to the greater comfort of the oarsmen, and the greater gratification of the lookers-on, for this rowing is out of all comparison prettier, and of course the boats travel at a greater pace. Both "Eights" and "Torpids," as most people are aware, are bumping races; that is, the boats start each at a given distance from the one behind it, and the object is to bump the boat in front, and so bump one's way to that proudest of all positions, "the Head of the River." A bump in front of the Barges (which Mr. Matthison has sketched), following a long and stern chase from Iffley, is a thing to live for.
West of Folly Bridge "The River" might as well, for all the ordinary undergraduate knows of it, sink for some distance, like a certain classic stream, beneath the ground. Venturesome explorers tell of a tract of water put to base mechanical uses, flanked by dingy wharves and overlooked by attic windows.
But to most boating-men "The River" ends at Salter's, only to reappear in the modified form and style of "The Upper River" at Port Meadow. "The Upper River" is some distance from everything else, but it is well worth the journey to Port Meadow. There is nothing strenuous about "The Upper River." It always seems afternoon there, and a lazy afternoon. The standard of oarsmanship may not be very high, but no one is in a hurry and no one is censorious. To enjoy the Upper River as it deserves to be enjoyed, you should have laboured at the Torpid oar a Lent Term, and have found yourself not required (this year) for the Eight. You know quite enough of rowing, in such a case, to cut a figure on the Upper River; but you will not want to cut it. If you appreciate your surroundings properly, you will want to sit in the stern while somebody else does the rowing; or, if you take an oar, you will want to pull in leisurely fashion and to look about you as you please, in the blissful absence of raucous injunctions to "keep your eyes in the boat." There is much that is pleasant to look upon—the wide expanse of Port Meadow on the right, on the towpath willows waving in the wind, and on the water here and there the white sail of a centre-board. As you draw near Godstow, you may see cattle drinking, knee-deep in the stream; you may land and refresh yourself, if you will, at the "Trout" at Godstow; may visit the ruins of the nunnery, with their memories of "Fair Rosamond;" or, leaning on the bridge-rail over Godstow weir, lulled by the ceaseless murmur of the water, may muse upon the vanity of mere ambition and the servitude of such as row in College Eights. Then, if the day be young enough, you may go on to Eynsham or to Bablock-Hythe, and perhaps afoot to Stanton-Harcourt, a most lovely village; and returning at dusk, when the stream appears to widen indefinitely as the light fails, you will vow that for sheer peace and enjoyment there is nothing like the Upper River.
