ph Waldo Emerson's
tribute to the English landscape, that "it seems to be finished with
the pencil instead of the plough." The surface of the river is broken by
numerous little "aits" or islands. We pass the little old house and the
venerable church embosomed in the rural beauties of Clifton-Hampden. We
pass Wallingford and Goring, and come to Pangbourne and Whitchurch,
where the little river Pang flows in between green hills. Each village
has the virtue that Dr. Johnson extolled when he said that "the finest
landscape in the world is improved by a good inn in the foreground."
Then we come to Mapledurham and Purley, where Warren Hastings lived, and
finally halt at Caversham, known as the port of Reading. Here the Thames
widens, and here in the olden time was the little chapel with a statue
of the Virgin known as the "Lady of Caversham," which was reputed to
have wrought many miracles and was the shrine for troops of pilgrims. In
Cromwell's day the chapel was pulled down, and the statue, which was
plated over with silver, was boxed up and sent to the Lord Protector in
London. They also had here many famous relics, among them the
spear-head that pierced the Saviour's side, which had been brought
there by a "one-winged angel." The officer who destroyed the chapel, in
writing a report of the destruction to Cromwell, expressed his regret at
having missed among the relics "a piece of the holy halter Judas was
hanged withal." Lord Cadogan subsequently built Caversham House for his
residence. Reading, which is the county-town of Berkshire, is not far
away from Caversham, and is now a thriving manufacturing city, its most
interesting relic being the hall of the ancient Reading Abbey, built
seven hundred years ago. It was one of the wealthiest in the kingdom,
and several parliaments sat in the hall. The ruins, still carefully
preserved, show its extent and fine Norman architecture.

The Thames flows on past Sonning, where the Kennet joins it, a stream
"for silver eels renowned," as Pope tells us. Then the Lodden comes in
from the south, and we enter the fine expanse of Henley Reach, famous
for boat-racing. It is a beautiful sheet of water, though the
university race is now rowed farther down the river and nearer London,
at Putney. Our boat now drifts with the stream through one of the most
beautiful portions of the famous river, past Medmenham Abbey and
Cliefden to Maidenhead. Here for about ten miles is a succession of
beauties