MEMOIR. xxiii 
lingering about the scene you describe ; and so I 
was. It was with really joyous feelings that I set 
out at six o'clock, and trudged along the Seven- 
bridge Road. It was Sunday evening, and the 
road was crowded with Oxford folks and the 
militia. The floods which surrounded the road 
seemed an object of interest to them, but I pushed 
on, bestowing a hurried glance now and then at 
the tufted willows, and islands, and shores of long 
grass, which dotted over and surrounded the lake- 
like fields, with the dappled sky reflected on their 
watery surface. Botley reached, I inquired the 
way to Wytham. A shady green lane was pointed 
out to me, and I was soon away in thought, all 
alone in that quiet place ; and so on I strolled, 
through the fields, past the wood, through the 
village, and, as night closed in, back again. If 
I were a word-painter I might describe my walk ; 
but not being one, should any attempt of mine 
thereat be intelligible to you, it will only be 
because you know what I would describe, and 
can realize my feelings. 
"There had been some little rain, and it was 
still rather dull and damp when I set out ; but I 
should have gone if it had been worse, and really 
the evening ended almost brightly. I enjoyed the 
freshness of everything, and the wild-birds seemed 
to enjoy it ; they did not appreciate it as I did, but 
