62 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



by a secret telepathy that we were willing to take them 

 into partnership if they would only abide by the laws of 

 sharing equally. No human would dare to assert such 

 airs of independence, no neighbor presume to do what 

 they exploit in perfect freedom from the conventions of 

 good society. 



They know no world but the wide world, and taking 

 their heads from under their wings between bat's flight 

 and cock's crow, that stillest hour before the dawn, set 

 about singing as if all the world were ready to get up and 

 go forth rejoicing. We have met those who grumble that 

 the country is too noisy with its songsters, cocks, and 

 crickets. But hearken, do not these betray the misfor- 

 tune of ears stopped with selfishness and love of the pil- 

 low after day has lighted her candles'? When one has 

 tuned one's soul to music, the bird chorus is a pean of joy 

 not to be sung to instruments of strings or reeds, but 

 sacred alone to the feathered creatures beloved by St. 

 Francis. 



Who, looking upon budding nature, does not sigh for 

 the old days of faith, when art grew under the inspiration 

 of human souls and became the flower of the Renaissance 

 to glorify the gloomy houses of worship, to give reverence 

 to childhood and motherhood, even to sanctify the singing 

 of birds'? Blessed be St. Francis of Assisi, who brought 

 love, human and divine, to gardens, to link nature 

 with art. No more gentle touch comes to us down the 



