The garden is full of birds just now; they are for ever wanting to make new introductions, it is almost impossible to pursue the simplest train of thought. None of them are very constant except the robins and the woodpeckers and a pair of minas that have built in a disused chimney and squeal defiance at the crows all day long from the eavestrough,--no crow was ever yet bold enough to go down a chimney after his prey. The rest come and go, I never know what they are at, or even, to tell the truth, how to address them. They appear suddenly out of nowhere and fly in companies from tree to tree, or settle down to an industrious meal all together under the rose-bushes, as if by common consent they had decided to picnic there; perhaps I shall not see them again for two or three days. Among the branches they take one direction, the tiny tree-climbers with yellow-green breasts are like young leaves flying. They add to life a charming note of the unexpected, these sudden flights of little birds; I wish I knew them to speak to.... It must be explained that this is the following day, and that an event of a very disturbing kind has taken place in the mean time. The rain was coming down in sheets this morning as Tiglath-Pileser and I stood by the window after breakfast. From the nest in the banksia came the most keen and mournful protest. For an instant it would stop when the old birds came and filled the little throats; then the plaint against life and circumstances, quite heartbreaking in accents so youthful, would begin again, and go on until it seemed to us too grievous to be borne. Heavily and heavily fell the rain. “I wonder the little beasts aren’t drowned out,” said Tiglath-Pileser. The close-cut roof of the banksia seemed a very poor protection to persons standing in the house. “Couldn’t we do something?” I suggested “An umbrella?” but Tiglath-Pileser thought an umbrella would be too difficult to fix. He went away, however, and out of his own wisdom and understanding he produced a mackintosh. This with a walking-stick and infinite pains and precautions he spread over the banksia, the rain descending upon his devoted head, I admonishing from the window. The crying ceased instantly, and though we waited for some minutes it did not recommence. Evidently the little things were more comfortable, perhaps they had gone to sleep. “That,” said I to Tiglath-Pileser as he turned away, “was a real kindness.”