(4P) 



west, and the waste of energy was absurd. For about 

 thirty years, as Curate or Rector, my father had walked 

 over Sunday after Sunday in all weathers, sometimes 

 returning drenched to the skin, sometimes with his beard 

 bristling with long icicles, sometimes almost c done up' 

 with the mid-day heat. He calculated that he had covered 

 about 7,000 miles in coming and going between Blox- 

 worth and Tomson. In later years the occasional duties 

 at Tomson were generally performed by Mr. Askew, the 

 Rector of the two adjoining parishes, who was kind 

 enough to give his help. One who knew my father well 

 some thirty years ago writes : c My mind is crowded with 

 memories of the very happy days which your father and 

 mother planned for us in childhood. They were friends 

 I can never forget. There are certain bits of landscape 

 I can only picture with your father in them. Tomson 

 Park requires him with his big stride and his coat-tails 

 fluttering in the wind. I think of him as the ideal 

 parson of a small country parish.' 



To his family my father was always a boy among boys ; 

 he shared all our pursuits and amusements, and, without 

 knowing how much we were gaining, we acquired from 

 him a delight in nature and a habit of observing natural 

 objects which has been one of the best things in our lives. 

 He would take any pains for our pleasure. He made 

 little gardens for us, and taught us to keep them. When 

 we were quite small he would make us a cricket -pitch 

 each year, roll it for hours, and bowl to us cunning 

 D 



