set of teeth, not one being missing or even discoloured, and his head, preserved by Messrs. Ward, of Wigmore Street, now adorns my dining-room. I judged him to be a young animal, but my shikari pretended to be able to tell from the markings on the top of the head that he was fourteen years.

I thus exemplified the truth of the general opinion amongst Indian sportsmen that, for the bag, night shooting cannot compare with day shooting; whilst I equally established, to my own satisfaction at least-and I trust also to that of my readers-the special attractions of the former sport.

ALTHOUGH rowing holds such a prominent place among British sports, it is noticeable how little of the spirit of adventure and exploration is connected with it. Adventure and exploration mean hard work; and as soon as your public-school man has given up racing, he considers that his time for steady disciplined toil has gone past. Practically, he gives up rowing; inasmuch as a paddle to a picnic cannot be called 'rowing,' in the true sense of the word. After the fierce delight of racing, he finds paddling over the same water time after time, for the mere sake of exercise, tame. There is no doubt that it is so; then why should he not go further afield, and pit his strength and cunning against the forces of Nature, even if he has no longer time to train for that most exacting of sports-a boat-race?

There are some few watery-minded vagrants in whom the instincts of the prehistoric nomad are not yet extinct. They live in a state of chronic rebellion against the limitations of civilisation; their lungs revolt against their daily portion of unnecessary carbon; and their souls abhor the unseemly miles of bricks and mortar. At certain seasons amongst these gather quiet meetings in attics and lumber-rooms to overhaul the stained old tent, redolent of wood-smoke and strange provisions; and thoughts turn to Thames, or Trent, or Severn, or the other hundred waterways of England that know the plash of oars. Lovely and peaceful though the Thames is, it lacks the elements of sportrisk and difficulty. Let us, therefore, turn our thoughts farther afield, to waters where the camper is still welcomed by the local farmer, and ten-shilling fines for damage are unknown. On some

of these waters one may row for a whole day and not meet another boat, and if the muscles be hard and the heart be willing, one will find how merry a rowing camp can be. It is no task to be lightly entered upon by the gilded youth of flabby muscles and easily harrowed nerves. The mere rowing of a laden boat from place to place entails heavy physical work; in addition, no small effort of will is required, to face the labour of pitching tents, gathering firewood, cooking food, and unpacking bedding, when tired out with a row which may have been anything from ten miles to forty.

Then what are the compensations? A freedom unknown to those who seek the shelter of hotels; a saving of expense, which is to many no small object; a cultivation of self-reliance, which is, in itself, a mental training; and that good-fellowship which they who gather round the camp-fire only know. They are tried and trusty friends, whose temper has been proved by cold, wet, fatigue, and every form of ill that tries the stubborn heart of the camper.

Now the first necessary of the rowing camper is a boat, and the best boat for the purpose is an inrigged or half-outrigged tub four. A craft of this class will carry about 300 lbs. of luggage, in addition to her crew of five men, and still have enough freeboard to go through rapids or fairly rough water. To this capacity, however, there are limits, as we once found in Selby Rack. There were two boats upon that memorable expedition, and a head wind blowing against the tide had made a considerable sea. This, the first boat, being perhaps more skilfully handled, passed through in safety; but the second and more heavily laden soon began to ship water. The skipper, who was stroking, awoke to the danger too late to reach the shelter of the bank. She quickly filled, and the bow man, losing his head, stood up; in an instant she turned completely over. It was Easter time, with hard frost at nights and a keen North-west wind driving occasional flakes of snow across the exposed flats of the East Riding. The water was strewn with wreckage of every sort; hampers and sleeping-sacks, tents and oars, were soon drifting rapidly down with the ebbing tide. It need hardly be said that the water was not tropical. Three of the crew decided so at once; but the skipper and the coxswain were alive to the responsibilities of the case. While the former, up to his neck in water, hurled the smaller articles ashore, and gathered in his mouth the pipes which his crew had forgotten in their haste; the latter, his ulster-tails streaming gracefully behind him, swam gallantly into mid-stream after a