XIV

Wargrave⁠—Waxworks⁠—Sonning⁠—Our stew⁠—Montmorency is sarcastic⁠—Fight between Montmorency and the teakettle⁠—George’s banjo studies⁠—Meet with discouragement⁠—Difficulties in the way of the musical amateur⁠—Learning to play the bagpipes⁠—Harris feels sad after supper⁠—George and I go for a walk⁠—Return hungry and wet⁠—There is a strangeness about Harris⁠—Harris and the swans, a remarkable story⁠—Harris has a troubled night.

We caught a breeze, after lunch, which took us gently up past Wargrave and Shiplake. Mellowed in the drowsy sunlight of a summer’s afternoon, Wargrave, nestling where the river bends, makes a sweet old picture as you pass it, and one that lingers long upon the retina of memory.

The George and Dragon at Wargrave boasts a sign, painted on the one side by Leslie, R. A. , and on the other by Hodgson of that ilk. Leslie has depicted the fight; Hodgson has imagined the scene, “After the Fight”⁠—George, the work done, enjoying his pint of beer.

Day, the author of Sandford and Merton , lived and⁠—more credit to the place still⁠—was killed at Wargrave. In the church is a memorial to Mrs. Sarah Hill, who bequeathed £1 annually, to be divided at Easter, between two boys and two girls who “have never been undutiful to their parents; who have never been known to swear or to tell untruths, to steal, or to break windows.” Fancy giving up all that for five shillings a year! It is not worth it.

It is rumoured in the town that once, many years ago, a boy appeared who really never had done these things⁠—or at all events, which was all that was required or could be expected, had never been known to do them⁠—and thus won the crown of glory. He was exhibited for three weeks afterwards in the Town Hall, under a glass case.