"January 3th.

"MY DEAR CHILD:--

"Your second question, regarding visiting you the coming season, was
answering itself the other day when I was writing. Life here, except in
winter, is becoming impossible to me. I have lost not only Josephus, but
my back yard! The stable where they keep the pigeons has changed hands.
Yes, you were right,--he did haunt the place, the postman says; and I
suppose they did not understand that he was merely playful, and not
hungry, or who he was, else maybe he was too careless about sitting on
the side fence by the street. I _could_ replace Josephus, but not the
yard,--there are no more back yards to be had; their decadence is
complete. I've closed my eyes for years to the ash heap my neighbour on
the right kept in hers; also to the cast-off teeth that came over from
the 'painless' dentist's on the left.

"When the great tenement flat ran up on the north, where I could, not so
long ago, see the masts of the shipping in the Hudson, I sighed, and
prayed that the tins and bottles that I gathered up each morning might
not single me out when I was tying up my vines in the moonlight of early
summer nights.

"Josephus resented these missiles, however, and his foolish habit of
sitting on the low side fence under the ailantus tree then began. Next, I
was obliged to give up growing roses, because, as you know, they are
fresh-air lovers; and so much air and light was cut off by the high
building that they yielded only leaves and worms. Still I struggled, and
adapted myself to new conditions, and grew more of the stronger summer
bedding plants.