You must sleep, you must eat, you must work, you must calculate and contrive, and you must make all the alarming sacrifices that society demands. The most offensive trespassers are those who never set foot on your domain, and you feel that your neighbor is trampling upon your rights. The screen of morning-glory vines, the hedge of roses and the stone wall between you do not serve to render his presence less aggressive. Or, perhaps, the moon shines forth as a disturber of the peace. It is true, the moon is a famous affair with the poets, but, after pleading to all their allegations, the fact remains that there is nothing like the moon for destroying the wonderful perspective that lies between the mind of the thoughtful man and the vast, deep silences of the night.
Nothing fits the mood and the hour as completely as the penetrating voice of the mocking-bird.
Without warning, he will break forth from the cedar-bush and repeat his melodious dreams to the spirit of the darkness. Whether the song be loud and persistent, or subdued and fragmentary, it leaves one imbued with the feeling of delicious restfulness which impels a little child, in the middle watches of the night, to lift its face, kiss its mother, and sink back to slumber. Please read it.