Weihaiwei Apr. 20—Felt a little sad this morning, taking a ten mile walk round the peninsula to see if there were anything of interest to record before sailing for Shangh: Down by the sea the Cormorants still sit on the rocks with their admiring gull-friends beside them, gazing up into their faces and waiting for....I know not what; that is still an unsolved problem. Approaching the hills I hear a Hoopoe calling repeatedly "Hoo-poe-poe-poe": beside me in the pine trees unseen flocks of Greenfinches are giving their call (or song?) with its peculiar metallic quality—like a tin lightly rattled and a little chirp of song at the end. Walking through my garden I see that the fairy glen made by my apricot trees is looking a little shabby—like a pantomime transformation scene on the last night: but the sun has brought out a new form of beauty—native peaches blooming warmly pink on a hillside, alternated with the white blossom and pale green leaves of the wild quince: in the orchard greengage and early plum are fully out, and the air is full of the drone of bees. Up in the hills the flocks of Dusky Thrushes are thicker than ever. A Crested Lark sits still within twenty feet of me to let me admire his perky headgear, and further rewards me with little bursts of song—just like that of the cage-birds of Shanghai, but so much sweeter for being wild: Swallows are coming thick and fast and for the first time I am hearing their twittering
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.