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Evening Post, Volume CVII, Issue 61, 16 March 1929, Page 15

DEAR ONES,— I'm still in mysterious places and not a bit where I should be. Bui they're very beautiful . . . these far lost hills where lonely rivers wind like silver and splash their eryslal in the sun. Sometimes the grass waves golden at their brink . . . and somelimes ferns lean dreaming on die water and the big trees whisper together softly, softly. . . . Birds swing by, and their jewelled notes drop to the pebbles in the brown depths. And the leaves spin patterns and lay them like a cloak across the deep clear jjools How can I return . . . yd? MY RING PEOPLE ... If you want your letters to be answered in Our Ring they must lie licre in tho Offico on Mondays at'midday. Don't foryet, Doar .Ones.' FAIRIEL.