The Journal of a Disappointed Man

I have been teaching her to distinguish the songs of different birds and often we sit a long while in the Cathedral Wood while I say, "What's that?" and "What's that?" and she tells me. It is delightful to watch her dear serious face as she listens.... This evening I gave a viva voce examination as per below: "What does the Yellow Hammer say?" "What colour are the Hedge Sparrow's eggs?" "Describe the Nightjar's voice." "How many eggs does it lay?" "Oh! you never told me about the Nightjar," she cried outraged. "No: it's a difficult question put in for candidates taking honours." Then we rambled on into Tomfoolery. "Describe the call-note of a motor omnibus." "Why does the chicken cross the road?" and "What's that?"--when a railway engine whistled in the distance. Measure by this our happiness! June 4. At a quarter past eight, this morning, the horse and trap were awaiting me outside, and bidding her "Goodbye" I got in and drove off--she riding on the step down so far, as the gate. Then we waved till we were out of sight. Back in London by 10 a.m. She makes slow progress, poor dear--her nerves are still very much of a jangle. But I am better, my heart is less wobbly. June 5. R---- cannot make me out. He says one day I complain bitterly at not receiving a Portuguese sonnet once a week, and the next all is well and Love reigneth. "Verily a Sphinx." June 7.