130 FRANCIS ORPEN MORRIS 



after having walked about my garden like Isaac of 

 old. I had watched the Flittermice hawking by the 

 beckside, my Wood-Pigeons had cooed their last coo 

 to each other in our shrubbery close to me, and the 

 daylight was now but scant. The next to appear on 

 the scene was a large Brown Owl, which, after two 

 or three turns over the lawn, went off to prowl some- 

 where else. He was followed by a Heronseugh sail- 

 ing away down-stream to his fishing-ground. And 

 this brings me to the subject of these few lines, 

 namely, la Wild Duck the next to come between me 

 and the sky and my star-gazing, wending her or his 

 way overhead in the opposite direction." Then he 

 goes on to say that he has no doubt that this was one 

 of the pair of Wild Ducks which had built in the 

 neighbouring stackyard ; and the curious part of it 

 was, that the situation was half-a-mile from any water, 

 except, indeed, a trickling rill. How well we can 

 picture him on this summer Sunday evening, his 

 work for the day over, enjoying the delights of the 

 balmy air and all that surrounded him, hatless, I will 

 answer for it, and alone alone, but in company that 

 he delighted in ; for he could say, as John Henry 

 Newman, in his Oxford days, did when, in one of his 

 solitary walks, he was met by a friend, who tauntingly 

 alluded to his seemingly lonesome ways. To this 

 gentle thrust on the part of his friend Newman made 

 answer, " Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus;' 1 

 and yet there were few who enjoyed the society of 

 congenial friends more than my father. 



The frequency, and not seldom the aptness, with 



