We had been to the at Mortlake, and were returning to Putney with the tide. Just after leaving the Barnes Bridge our crew were called upon to give up to have a row. Then they It was a splendid eight minutes. My

And as I watched them I could not help feeling that in the youngsters before me were the true germs of the British race. They were all good in the schools, but it was something more that shone in the bright good-looking faces of the heroes of the river. I recognised in the men before me the stock from which come the and the There was not a man amongst them, from the sturdy little steerer up to gigantic No. 5, who would not have held his own at Glencoe or shown Tommy Atkins the way into the Redan at Sebastopol. Here before me were the descendants of the men who had fought at Agincourt, Crecy, and Waterloo. And here were they exhibiting the same fine old British pluck that had carried their ancestors triumphantly through the treacheries of the Peninsula and the cruel mismanagement of the Crimea. Oh, it was a grand sight! The sort of sight that makes one's eyes glisten and one's heart beat a little faster at the thought that the blood coursing through one's

will say any of the crew or their successors, who reads the above language, quoting the immoral criticism of Lord Arthur Pomeroy.

I reply in advance.

And so it was. While our lads can row and live up to rowing we need not fear for the Union Jack. It will keep floating all the world over.