WHITE DUCK 107 



feathers too, a little, as they turned this way and that, 

 disturbed at my approach ; and just then, when I 

 stood to gaze, the sun shone full out after the passing 

 of a light cloud, and flushed the blue pool and floating 

 birds, silvering the ripples and causing the plumage 

 to shine as if with a light of its own. 



" I have never seen a more beautiful thing ! ' I 

 exclaimed to myself ; and now at the end of the long 

 day it remains in my mind, vividly as when I looked 

 at it at that moment when the sunbeams fell on it, 

 and is so persistent that I have no choice but to write 

 it down. The beauty I saw was undoubtedly due 

 to the peculiar conditions — to the blue colour of the 

 water, the ruffling wind, the whiteness of the plumage, 

 and the sudden magic of the sunlight ; but the effect 

 would not have been so entrancing if the floating birds 

 had not also been beautiful in themselves — in shape 

 and in their surpassing whiteness. 



Now I am quite sure the reader will smile and per- 

 haps emit the sound we usually write pish — a little 

 sibilant sound expressing contempt. For though he 

 will readily admit that the sun beautifies many things, 

 he draws the line at a duck — the common domestic 

 one. Like all of us, he has his prepossessions and can't 

 get away from them. Every impression, we are told 

 by Professor James, no sooner enters the consciousness 

 than it is drafted off in some determinate direction, 

 making connection with the other materials there, 

 and finally producing a reaction. In this instance the 

 impression is the story of a duck described as beautiful, 



