The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1920-04-17
THE LETTER BOX

No one could describe the peace
that enveloped that country rectory.
| The parish was small, well-inten-
toned, well-to-do, accustomed to the
| old priest who had been it's director
| for thirty years. The village ended
at the presbytery; the presbytery
| reached to the meadow which sloped
| towards the river, and from which lose
| in the warm weather the song of the
| earth scented by the perfume of
plants. Behind the too large house a
| kitchen garden bordered on the
| meadow, and received the first and
| last rays of the sun. AS early as the
| month of May one could see cherries
| there, gooseberries often earlier, and
| week before the Assumption, one
could not pass within a hundred
| meters of it, without smelling the
heavy perfume of ripening melons.
You must not think that the Cure
of st. Philemon was gluttOn. He
had arrived at the age when the appe-
tite is merely a memory, his back was
stopped, his face Wrinkled, his eyes
small and grey and one quite blind,
| and one ear so deaf that in addressing
him it was always necessary to APP
proach from the other side. Oh no,
he did not eat all the fruits of his
| orchards. The small boys and the
birds had also their share-especially
the birds-the blackbirds which lived
there in comfort all the year round
and sang their best in return; the
orioles, pretty Wayfarers, who helped
themselves during weeks of great
abundance; the sparroWS, the war
blers and finally the tom-tits, species
| swarming and vOraciOus, with tufts of
feathers, big as fingers, hanging on
branches, turning, climbing, piercing
grape-seed here, pecking at pear
there-real beasts of prey, giving in
recompense only little shrill cry like
the buzz of saw. Old age had rem
dered the Cure of st. Philemon in
dulgent even to them. These little
creatures are not blameless,' said he,
but if | would change them, how
many of my parishioners must I wish
to improve also?" And he contented
himself with clapping his hands on
entering the garden, in order not to he
a witness to the appalling depreda-
tiOnS.
Then there would be a fiuttering of
wings. as if all the flowers of all the
wild plants were set on Wing-grey,
white, yellow and variegated ones: a
little flight, a rustling of leaves, and
then peace for five minutes more. But
| what minutes! What silence. Remem-
| Der there was not one factory in the
| village, nor one tradesplace, nor forge
| hammer, and the noise of men and
their horses and oxen filtering across
the country, isolated, invisible,
the air rising from the heated earth.
Mills were unknown, roads scarcely
! frequented, railways far distant. If
the repentance of those garden-war-
blers had lasted the priest would have
been lulled to sleep over his breviary
by the very silence.
| Fortunately the return was promnt,
| sparrow set the example, jay fol-
lowed and the entire aviary resum led
work. In vain the priest might pass
and repass, holding his book shut, or
opening it, murmuring, They will not
leave me one grain this year." no bird
left it's prey no more than if the Cure
were a cone-shaped pear tree with
thick foliage, swaying in time on the
gravel walk.
Birds guess that those who complain
do not act. Each spring they nestad
around the rectory of St. Philemon in
greater numbers than anywhere else
The best places were quickly occu-
pied; the holloWs in the trees, the
holes in the walls, the fOrked branches
of the apple-trees or hornbeams, and
one could see brown beaks, like sword
points, projecting from handfuls of
hay between all the rafters of the roof
One year, when all had been taken, a
tom-tit, | suppose in embarrassed Cir.
cumstances, perceived little slit, pro
tected by a board, sunk in the thick.
ness of the masonry to the right OF
IliS SAlIl oilSC Nool VI IllC pl SoUy lCl y ,
she slipped in, came back satisfied
with her exploration, brought some
materials and built her nest, neglect
ing nothing to keep it warm-neithe1
feathers, nor wool, nor flakes OF
lichens to cover the old wood
One morning the house-keeper
Philomene, came in furiously holding
a paper. 1t was under the laurel arbo1
at the end of the garden.
Look, Father. see the state of this
paper! That is nice!'
What do you mean, Philomene?"
''Your horrid birds, all those birds
that you keep here. They will soon
be nesting in your soup-tureens."
But l only have one soup-tureen
Philomene"
''They have even taken it into their
heads to nest in your letter-box.
opened it, because the postman rang
which has not happened for many
days. 1t was full-of hay, horsehair
spider-threads, feathers enough tc
make an eider-down comforter, and in
the midst of it all creature which
i. hadn't seen, Kissed at me, like g
viper"
:, Tho Trro of Dbiloroo,, Loooo /