who has taken a gun off in the bush at odd times, re- turned today with a cuckoo. This is the third so far and a very welcome member indeed. In the evening we sat down to Dr. Drowne's birthday dinner. Although it carried with it no more unusual edibles than a tinned fruit cake preserved especially for the purpose, it was very hearty in good wishes. Par- ticularly in celebrating his safe recovery from a rotten disease. The passage of time among these mountains is an engaging study. I take my cue from the comparative identity which each day has with the next. In every week of all the months of the year each tree is just as green, the palms and taro leaves as tall and healthy, the song of the birds in the morning quite the same and quite as cheerful. One may go to sleep at night knowing that tomorrow may be indistinguishable from today, and if today was particularly beautiful it may be enjoyed all over again. For the weather is arbitrary. The rain clouds gather at certain times in the day and month, but it is perfectly possible for them to disregard their schedule. If they do not disregard their schedule it is still possible that they will not rain. There is nothing unequivocal in the sky at any time as there is nothing changeable in the forest and on the hazy blue foreheads of the mountains. Indeed every day on the calendar is a repetition of some undated day, its exact counterpart in tincture of sky, pattern of cloud, and feature of the