ov. 14—Weihaiwei in Autumn. A windless day with glorious sunshine and the temperature of an Indian summer: a walk to the Gap, a split in the rock 800 feet above the sea, and a picture on the other side such as never hung on the walls of any art gallery. In the foreground rolling hills painted in autumn tints relieved by little splashes of green which are evergreen pines; a Jine of brilliant yellow sands shining in the early morning sun; a sea of pale turquoise blue backed with a faint white mist; and in the centre of the bay a little island, yellow-fringed with sandy cliff and topped with autumn-tinted foliage, Perhaps a Japanese artist could paint such a picture in the most delicate pastel shades, for only an islander can grasp the secrets of sun and mist and water in their most elusive moods. So much beauty coming upon you suddenly is like an overdose of a strong tonic so I turned my back upon it and walked the hills in search of something more mundane. I somehow felt that anything so perfect could not last. and I am far too frail a mortal to ask a glimpse of Heaven; and the fact that T was right soon became evident, Grim winter is at hand and the population are living on the very borderline of starvation, depending on the warmth of the family "K'ang" to keep the lifeblood flowing. As the pale mist lifted under the rays of the rising sun, whole families came irooping up the hills, sickle and bamboo rake in hand. Those with sickles lashed into the painted scrub-oak and cut away every branch, twig and leaf above the gnarled root: those with rakes scraped and swept every blade of grass from the parent stems. Gradually that beautiful hillside lost its pastel tints and turned to the dull grey of mother earth and rock....a drab colour-scheme, waiting for the kindly hand of Spring to make it green again,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.