As a headquarters for boating, for those who want to dawdle and explore odd corners and have no desire to rush through as many locks as possible in a day, Abingdon makes a good centre. It is within easy reach of the part lying below the woods at Nuneham, and in the other direction is the Sutton Courtney backwater, which, Wargrave notwithstanding, is not to be beaten on the Thames. Further down again is Clifton Hampden, which attracts many people, and the river at Abingdon itself is by no means to be despised. The bridge, called Burford Bridge, is a real delight. It is old and irregular, with straggling arches, some rounded, some pointed; and all, even the highest, comparatively low down over the water, framing cool, dark shadows within the embrace of the mighty piers. The bridge cannot be seen in the glance of an eye. It is very long, and rests partly on an island. Standing on this, the Nag's Head Inn projects from one side of the bridge, and from it stretches out a small garden with several orchard trees. The red tiles and creamy tint of the hotel walls show well in contrast with the grey stone of the bridge, and when the hotel is seen from the river above the bridge, with the tall spire of St. Helen's Church rising behind it, it is worth noticing.

There are bits of old wall lining the bank on the town side, and ivy grows freely over them. Many of the houses stand back from the water; a part of the ruined abbey and the long range of the abbot's residence can be seen between masses of blossom. The great exterior chimney of the abbey buildings should particularly be noticed. The blossom at Abingdon is a great feature, and one not to be found everywhere. Horse-chestnuts and holm oaks dip their boughs in the water, and from the branches arises a perfect chorus of birds. Abingdon has its chimneys, of course, as well as hideous buildings suited to modern requirements of business, but in the general view these things are lost sight of.

Burford is a corruption of Borough-ford, and before the building of the bridge in the fifteenth century, the ferry at Culham was the main means of communication with the other side of the river.

The range of Nuneham, below which runs the backwater called the Old River, can be seen to the south-east. If this ever was the main stream it must have been very long ago, for the memory of it is not recorded in any document now extant. The Old River is crossed by another bridge, and the two are linked by a straight road, made by Geoffrey Barbour at the same time as the building of the bridges. There is a picture of Barbour in the almshouses, and this shows the bridge being built in the background; while an illuminated copy of verses tells us:

Below Burford Bridge, the great bur-reeds grow near the islands. There is one delightful old house, formerly a malt house, with all sorts of odd angles and corners. It encloses a small terraced court, from which steps lead down to the water. It stands on the site of St. Helen's nunnery, founded about 690. Further on are some of the newer almshouses—a blot on the scene; and then a glimpse may be had of the wooden cloister of the old almshouses, which, in their way, are as pretty as those at Bray.

Christ's Hospital, as the almshouses are called, was founded in the reign of Edward VI. out of lands belonging to a dissolved Guild of the Holy Cross. The central hall dates, however, from 1400. It has a stone mullioned window and panelled walls; in the ceiling is a dome or cupola. Once a week eighty loaves of bread are here distributed among the poor people of the town, and when the loaves, with their crisp, flaky, yellow crust, stand in piles on the polished oak table, and the poor old people gather for their share, there is an old-world touch in the picture such as one does not often see nowadays. The cloister or arcade of dark wood outside is decorated with texts and proverbs on its inner wall. The newer almshouses, built in 1797, lack all the homeliness and interest of the older ones. The church of St. Helen's, which has a very tall spire, is close to the almshouses and the river, and is well worthy of its position. It has been much restored, but is mainly of sixteenth century work.

Of course there was an abbey at Abingdon, though whether the name of the town arose from that fact or from a proper name Aben or Æbba is doubtful. The earliest name of the town was the unpronounceable one of Seovechesham, and it was then a royal residence. The abbey was founded by Cissa about 675. It was destroyed by the Danes and reconstructed long before most places on the river had begun to have any history at all. The abbey rose to great importance and wealth. It held manors innumerable, and its abbot was a person to reckon with. Even at the date of Domesday Book the abbey held no less than thirty manors. But its power did not save it, and it suffered the common fate at the Dissolution. A gateway of about the fourteenth century and some ruins, which show where the dwellings of the monks stood, are all that remain, beside the guest-chamber—a large, barn-like building—and the almoner's residence. The latter has a magnificent fireplace and chimney. The ceiling of the room below is groined, and looks like that of a crypt, but this is said to have been the kitchen. The chief feature of interest is the huge chimney, which is like a room, and has little windows on each side; its size is best appreciated from the exterior view. The church has quite disappeared, for the little ancient church near the gateway was not the abbey church, but is supposed to have been at first a chapel of ease. In this there is some Norman work, including the west doorway, and it is probably of quite as ancient lineage as anything now remaining of the abbey.

Henry I. was sent by his father, as a lad of twelve, to be educated at Abingdon Abbey, and the learning by which he gained the name of Beauclerc shows that there must have been some able men here. The town hall in the market place at Abingdon is really a fine bit of work. It has been attributed to Inigo Jones, and stands over an open arcade, according to the style of town halls of the seventeenth century. The lock is a good way above Abingdon, and from it the millstream, as usual a pleasant backwater, flows right back to the town, enclosing a large island.

The lock at Culham is one of the least interesting on the river, and of the hundreds who pass through it only a few know that they are close to the very prettiest backwater on the Thames, namely Sutton Pool. There is one backwater at Sutton Courtney which can be reached from above Culham Lock. This leads to the mill, now disused, and runs along the top of the numerous weirs that pour into Sutton Pool itself. It is pretty also, and it is pleasant to see the meadows where the cows stand knee-deep in flowering plants, and the little square tower of the church peeping through the trees. This backwater is the best for landing to go to the village. Along the top of the weirs runs a path—a public right-of-way—which leads across the fields to Culham Lock, and anyone may land here and look down upon the pool; but to get right into it the lock must be passed, and some way further, after going under the bridge, we can turn the corner of a large island and retrace our way upstream until we come into the great pool, with its miniature bays and tumbling water. The weirs are high, and the streams come down with force, making a restless heave and swell when the river is full. The little tongues of land that divide one bay from another are shaded by willows, and the lush green grass grows here and there around tiny beaches of white sand. In spring, masses of hawthorn, "all frosted" with flowers, bend down from above, and the wild hyacinths break up between the blades of grass. Tall reeds form tiny islets, and perhaps a little moorhen flaps out. It is in secluded places like this that the dainty nest of the reed-warbler may be seen, swinging so lightly upon its supports that it is extraordinary to think that so large a bird as the cuckoo should dare to deposit its egg there. Yet reed-warblers and sedge-warblers are both among the cuckoo's victims. Unfortunately, in this little paradise landing is everywhere strictly forbidden, but no one can forbid enjoyment of the beauties which appeal to sight.

The village of Sutton Courtney is certainly worth visiting. The village green, with its tall chestnuts, limes, and elms, is the very picture of what a green should be. The church is particularly interesting, for it is that rarity an unrestored building, with the old red-tiled floor and the rudeness of the original—so often smoothed away behind stencilling and paint—still left untouched. There is a shelf of chained books, a fine carved screen, and an altar-tomb of some interest. The manor house, which is not far off, is in a medley of styles, ranging from Norman to Jacobean. Malefactors are said to have been hanged from the stout oak beam which is still in good preservation. One wing is of perfect Jacobean work, with an overhanging storey decorated with carved pendants. A fine old building, half-way up the village, is called the Hall of Justice; this, however, may have a meaning less obvious than supposed at first sight, as the family of Justice held the manor for some generations.

In it there is a fine old Norman doorway. The owner has furnished the interior with tapestry hangings, etc., somewhat in accordance with what it may have looked like originally when in use. It certainly gives one an idea of the old Saxon or Norman style of dwelling before even the upper chamber or solar came into fashion.

The river at Clifton Hampden is not a couple of miles from the river at Nuneham Courtney, so great is the loop by Abingdon. It may be noted that the name Courtney, though spelt differently, is derived from the ownership of the Courtenays, Earls of Exeter, in both the instances above. Clifton Hampden is a great favourite with artists, for the church, with its little, pointed spire, stands on a cliff which has in parts broken away, showing the rich yellow ochre of the soil. This makes up well in a "composition." The river sweeps round beneath it in a sort of little bay, and when white ducks dabble in the water and blue-pinafored children play beneath the yellow-ochre cliff, there is much to be said for it. The houses, too, are not without points. They are mostly thatched, and have their share of plants and creepers. The bridge is of red brick, and, with a little toning by weather, will make a capital accessory. But to my mind Clifton Hampden lacks that indefinable quality of charm found in such abundance elsewhere.