That it is not cramp of the voluntary muscles is, I think, evident from the fact that many people do get cramp in their legs when swimming, and this, though painful, is not dangerous, for we can always throw ourselves on our back or swim in spite of the pain. I have actually plunged into deep water with a slight attack of cramp in one of my legs, but found no difficulty in keeping myself afloat until the cramp subsided. Although, until its nature is precisely understood, there will always remain some risk of accident from so-called cramp, still I believe the risk would be reduced to insignificance if those who chill rapidly, whom swimming fatigues, or who become nervous in deep water, would refrain from venturing beyond their depth until they have conquered these failings, which habit will soon enable them to do. [2] The power of resisting the cold of the water often depends very much on the condition of our body at the time of immersion. If we enter the water feeling cold we soon become thoroughly chilled, but if we are warm from the heat of the weather, or still better from previous moderate exercise, we can much better resist the cold of the sea, lake, or river. But the slight risks attending swimming in cold water should not deter a community from providing itself with open-air swimming places. The risk from drowning will be entirely obviated by artificial constructions on a lake or river, such as are to be found in many continental towns. English towns are for the most part entirely destitute of open-air swimming baths, and if they have suitable rivers or lakes near them it is rare, indeed, to see any portion of them inclosed for bathing purposes. London itself, with a population of three millions, is now without any regular open-air swimming bath. A noble river runs through it, but in spite of the gigantic works for intercepting and carrying off the sewage, the Thames is still such a polluted stream that no one with all his senses entire—especially those of sight, smell, and taste—would venture to bathe in it below Teddington Lock. It is true that one sees in summer many boys disporting themselves on its grimy bosom between the bridges, and I have even seen some enjoying a douche at the outfall of a sewer, but such feats will be more admired for their temerity than imitated for their propriety; and the Thames from Richmond downwards must still be considered as unsuitable for bathing. London has many lakes of more or less clear water admirably adapted for swimming purposes, but bathing is forbidden in all these with the exception of three, and in these it is only allowed at such inconvenient hours as practically to exclude all but a few from using them. London has many canals, but bathing is forbidden in them, and though it is impossible to keep the boys out of them, they bathe in peril of being seized by some policeman and of being fined by some magistrate for “indecent exposure of the person.”