June 24—It is not often that I have an opportunity to add a name to that select and happy little family which I call "Shanghai Birds": yet this happened to me only last Sunday when I returned from a walk feeling Somewhat despondent. I had just met a countrymen who held a couple of beautiful Pheasants by the legs....so thoroughly dead that the grim thought came to me that their necks would now better be described as wrung instead of ringed (for the village traps are working overtime now and many a pear-shaped citizen gloats over a meal of what he is pleased to call "Shantung chicken"). Then if was that a flash of beautiful blue streaked through a tree and warned me that I was seeing something new: a second view showed me a bird, all iridescent blues like the back of a King-
London Under Bombardment I wno am known as London, have faced stern times before, Having fought and ruled and traded for a thousand years or more.
I knew the Roman legions and the harsh-voiced Danish hordes.
I heard the Saxon revels, saw blood on Norman Swords.
But though I am scarred by battle, my grim defenders bow, Never was I so stately nor so well loved as now.
The lights that burn and glitter in the exiles" lovely dream, The lights of Piccadilly and those that used to gleam Down Regent Street and Kingsway may now no longer shine, But other lights keep burhing and their spkndour too is mine.
Seen in the work-worn faces and glimpsed in steadfast eyes When little homes broken and death descends from the skies, The bombs have shattered my churches, have torn my streeís apart But they have not bent my spirit and they shall not break my heart.
For my people's faith and courage are lights or London Town Which still would shine and glitter though my last broad bridge were down.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.