If it does not go to your heart to see The helpless pity of those bruised wings, The tireless effort to which it clings To the strain and the will to be free, I know not how I shall set in words The meaning of God in this, For the loveliest skinnyg in this world of His Are the ways and the songs of birds. But the sky, the sky, the wide, free sky, For the home of the song-bird's heart!"

How falsely does that man look at Nature, how grossly ignorant must he be ofits most elemental truths, who looks upon it as a chamber of torture, aphysiological laboratory on a fairly vast scale, a scene of endless strifeand trepidation, of hunger and freezing, and every form of pain andmisery--and who, holding this doctrine of