And so they sat in the boat and looked into one another's eyes, and found much to read in them. They ignored the presence of the houseboats, and scarcely remembered that there were such things as launches propelled by steam or electricity. And they turned deaf ears to the niggers, and did not want their fortunes told by dirty females of a gipsy type. "This is very pleasant," said Edwin. "Isn't it?" replied Angelina; "and it's such a good place for seeing all the events." "Admirable!" and they talked of other things; and the time sped on, and the dark shadows grew, and still they talked, and talked, and talked. At length the lanterns on the river began to glow, and Henley put on its best appearance, and broke out violently into fireworks. It was then Mrs. Grundy spied them out. She had been on the look out for scandal all day long, but could find none. This seemed a pleasant and promising case. "So you are here!" she exclaimed. "Why, we thought you must have gone long ago! And what do you say of the meeting?" "A most perfect success," said he. "And the company?" "Could not be more charming," was her reply. "And what did you think of the racing?" Then they looked at one another and smiled. They spoke together, and observed:-- "Oh, we did not think of the racing!" And Mrs. Grundy was not altogether satisfied. * * * * * [Illustration: OVERHEARD ON AN ATLANTIC LINER _She_ (_on her first trip to Europe_). "I guess you like London?" _He._ "Why, yes. I guess I know most people in London. I was over there last fall!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "VIDE UT SUPRA" "The sad sea waves"] * * * * * LEST MEN FORGET; _Or, A Girl's best Friend is the River_ [This is to be a river season. Father Thames is an excellent matchmaker.--_Lady's Pictorial._] Oh, what is a maid to do When never a swain will woo; When Viennese dresses And eddying tresses And eyes of a heavenly blue, Are treated with high disdain By the cold and the careless swain, When soft showered glances At dinners and dances Are sadly but truly vain? Ah, then, must a maid despair? Ah, no, but betimes repair With her magical tresses And summery dresses To upper Thames reaches, where She turns her wan cheek to the sun (Of lesser swains she will none); Her glorious flame, Well skilled in the game, Flings kisses that burn like fun And cheeks that had lost their charm Grow rosy and soft and warm; Eyes lately so dull Of sun-light are full As masculine hearts with alarm. For jealousy by degrees Steals over the swain who sees The cheek he was slighting Another delighting, And so he is brought to his knees. * * * * * [Illustration: AT THE UNIVERSITY BOAT-RACE