their northern feeding grounds. And he would go upstairs to 
     
     wake my mother and tell her about this wondrous sight. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Many times have I stood beside him, looking out the big 
     
     plate glass window in the front of the Store, while he talked 
     
     about the beauty of the river stretched out before us. He never 
     
     seemed to tire at the sight: the blue of the water, the red banks, 
     
     the evergreen trees topping it off, and there in the distance the 
     
     sight of the Newport Ferry passing back and forth on its 
     
     appointed rounds. 
     
    
   
   
    
     He had a great appreciation of the literature of his time; 
     
     especially the writings of Chesterton, Belloc and Newman. The 
     
     Saturday Evening Post was his joy and he would come home 
     
     late Saturday night with the magazine tightly clasped to his 
     
     chest. Then it was on to the stories about “Tugboat Annie”, 
     
     “Mr. Glencannon of the Inchcliffe Castle” or the reports of the 
     
     agent for the Earthworm Tractor Co. to his head office. 
     
    
   
   
    
     He enjoyed poetry immensely and could recite his 
     
     favorite poems at will. Perhaps it was this love of poetry that 
     
     led him to ask for a copy of Gerard Manley Hopkins poems 
     
     when he was in hospital shortly before he died. My brother 
     
     Kent sought out Brendan O’Grady of the English Department at 
     
     SDU who supplied the required text. Brendan said recently that 
     
     at the time he thought it strange that someone would ask for the 
     
     work of a writer who while arguably is the greatest poet in the 
     
     English language, yet was little known outside academia. 
     
    
   
   
    
     llO