There once was an adopted father, and the son who had adopted him died without leaving a will, and the poor father was sonless and penniless. He felt sure that his adoptive son would never have been thoughtless enough to omit so important an arrangement as the making of a will. However, no will was found, and the property of the rich son was put up to auction. The poor father watched the sale with a gloomy face. There was the Broadwood grand-piano, on which his son had taught him his scales: he saw it disposed of to a stranger, and turned away to weep. Then a copper coal-scuttle was put up to auction, and the poor father fancied he heard a voice within him saying, “Buy the coal-scuttle! Buy the coal-scuttle!” He had but a few pounds left, and it was a Louis XIV. coal-scuttle; but he bid for it, and ultimately secured it. With trembling hands he bore it off to the little cottage, which now was all that he had to call a home. Eagerly he opened the lid, and saw inside some small coal and a pair of broken braces. That shows luck just as much as the other stories; but luck is like the moon--we see only one side of it. At any rate, it is quite as true as the other two stories. That fly again! This is the third time. I feel that it is fated. I raise my paddle on high, and bring it down with one mighty whack and a murmured “Bismillah!” I have missed the fly, and split the paddle, and could do with _something shorter_ than “Bismillah!” Now I’m going home. VIII. ON SOLITUDE: WITH A THIRD ANECDOTE FROM THE “ENTERTAINMENTS” OF KAPNIDES. If I have gone some distance to seek solitude, it is not because I am sulky. But I never feel quite certain at this time of the year that there may not be penny steamers plying between Silver Street Bridge and Chesterton, or a Lockhart’s tea and cocoa palace erected in King’s. And I should hardly like to see it. Of course I did not find absolute solitude even here. The other day an apple fell on my head while I was like a child picking up pebbles on the shores of the ocean of life. I saw that there was no help for it; so I just followed precedent and discovered a natural law--that I never get anything I want. I am quite contented, consequently, that I did not find any solitude at first, and am pleasantly surprised that a large picnic party, who came and sniffed all round me suspiciously, as if they wondered why I was not muzzled, have finally decided to defile some other part of the river scenery with their happy laughter and packets of lukewarm comestibles. I like a crowd immensely. Ditton Corner is good for the soul. So is the Strand at noon or midnight. But every one who really likes a crowd, really likes solitude.