September 11—It is not easy to pick up the threads after an absence of two months, and as T walla round the garden I ind myself trying to account for all the old friends. There is Mcggie, to begin with, who now only seems to ave two children: T fam certain these are' Ann and Joe, bhut poor little Vi has got lost in the dear' somewhere—perhaps she has met with an accident and became a Bird of Paradise. Lizzie the friendly Bulbul is stil here........but she utters round doubifuily, "wonder= ing, perhaps if Tam. the same person. "Fendy-alone" the Blackbird with "the while feathers, has indulged in her Autumn incult, and now has more white in her plumage than ever; she is an ornithological curiosity of which T am very proud. But the Oriole which Played the flute to mo in the early. summer is the strangest of all, and is proving to me daily that birds must depend more on instinct than fon thought: the fact is that his favourite Pterocarya tree, whose ashelike leaves made such a perfect camouflage for him on sunny days, has eon al lacked by "some pest which has denuded it of all its folly age, yet the stupid bird' still. goes: back to his usual perch, looking Like a great golden ball, but apparently under the impression that he is hidden from all prying eyes! Soon he will be leaving China by the fastest aireroule, leaving his young behind for a utile while, just to remind us that summer was once here. T like that idea and must close my entry on it...it is nice to think that most of us have young who wilt stay with us awhile....just to remind ts that summer Was once here.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.