OCTOBER 165 



autumn, my left-hand curtain is all yellow 

 gold, reflecting back gold sunshine of its 

 own. There should be dispersed amid the 

 gold, bunches of ripe green grapes, like 

 clustered berylls. That part of the orna- 

 mental needlework ! has not been well done 

 this year, and the grapes are mostly shrunk 

 and mildewed. To repair the loss of them 

 slender jasmine twigs set round with 

 narrow dark green leaves, hold out little 

 silver stars, peering round the corners, 

 stretching round the window-sills, while 

 across them comes a dash of red Virginian 

 climber. The one fault I find, is that my 

 yellow curtains do not endure. Come a 

 sharp frost, or strong gust of wind they 

 are gone in a moment. 



The failure of the grapes is this year a 

 serious disappointment to the birds, who 

 count upon their vintage at the windows ; 

 yet the shutters opening in the morning 

 discover them some times at work. There 

 is a blackbird, with full black chest, 

 swallowing the grapes as fast as his golden 

 bill can manage it; or a thrush sits in the 

 Vine taking breath between his mouthfuls, 



