have ever seen the thing I mean. You fix iron hoops up over the boat,
and stretch a huge canvas over them, and fasten it down all round, from
stem to stern, and it converts the boat into a sort of little house, and
it is beautifully cosy, though a trifle stuffy; but there, everything has
its drawbacks, as the man said when his mother-in-law died, and they came
down upon him for the funeral expenses.

George said that in that case we must take a rug each, a lamp, some soap,
a brush and comb (between us), a toothbrush (each), a basin, some tooth-
powder, some shaving tackle (sounds like a French exercise, doesn't it?),
and a couple of big-towels for bathing. I notice that people always make
gigantic arrangements for bathing when they are going anywhere near the
water, but that they don't bathe much when they are there.

It is the same when you go to the sea-side. I always determine - when
thinking over the matter in London - that I'll get up early every
morning, and go and have a dip before breakfast, and I religiously pack
up a pair of drawers and a bath towel. I always get red bathing drawers.
I rather fancy myself in red drawers. They suit my complexion so. But
when I get to the sea I don't feel somehow that I want that early morning
bathe nearly so much as I did when I was in town.

On the contrary, I feel more that I want to stop in bed till the last
moment, and then come down and have my breakfast. Once or twice virtue
has triumphed, and I have got out at six and half-dressed myself, and
have taken my drawers and towel, and stumbled dismally off. But I
haven't enjoyed it. They seem to keep a specially cutting east wind,
waiting for me, when I go to bathe in the early morning; and they pick
out all the three-cornered stones, and put them on the top, and they
sharpen up the rocks and cover the points over with a bit of sand so that