JANUARY 15 



the little birds, who have no barns, these 

 granaries are open to a horde of pensioners. 

 Every puff of wind shakes down the flat seeds 

 of the umbels, and every hour the brown 

 weights that act as rudders to the parachutes 

 of the great family of the composites grow 

 sweeter and sweeter. Thistles stand out in 

 angles that only an artist of old Japan could 

 understand. Queen Anne's lace throws sha- 

 dows which no one but Bonvin could interpret. 

 Asters, goldenrod, Jor-pye-reed, grasses, sedges, 

 yarrow mallows, and even jimpson and 

 plantain, mullein and burdock and pig-weed 

 have a value now. Men never plant these 

 things. They even cut down those which 

 have planted themselves, and pride themselves 

 upon the performance of an act of civic virtue 

 when the weed pile vanishes in a flash of fire . 

 and a puff of smoke. It may be that they are 

 right, and perhaps I would do it myself if I 

 had the next year's grains to look after ; but 

 here, in this spot dedicated to St Francis of 

 Assisi, the weeds shall stand forth in all the 

 beauty of loving service, offering their bounty to 

 the birds in a right true brotherliness good to 

 see and good to share. 



