"Brother birds," he said to them, "you ought to praise and love your Creator very much. He has given you feathers for clothing, wings for flying, and all that is needful for you. He has made you the noblest of his creatures; he permits you to live in the pure air; you have neither to sow nor to reap, and yet he takes care of you, watches over you and guides you." Then the birds began to arch their necks, to spread out their wings, to open their beaks, to look at him, as if to thank him, while he went up and down in their midst stroking them with the border of his tunic, sending them away at last with his blessing.'
"'In this same tour, passing through Alviano, he began to preach to the people, but the swallows so filled the air with their chirping that he could not make himself heard. "It is my turn to speak," he said to them; "little swallow sisters, hearken to the word of God; keep silent and be very quiet until I have finished.'"
"'At Rieti a family of redbreasts were the guests of the monastery, and the young birds made marauding expeditions on the very table where the Brothers were eating. Not far from there, at Greccio, at another time, they brought to Francis a little rabbit that had been taken alive in a trap. "Come to me, Brother Rabbit," he said to it. And as the poor creature, being set free, ran to him for refuge, he took it up, caressed it, and finally put it on the ground that it might run away; but it returned to him again and again, so that he was obliged to send it to the neighboring forest before it would consent to return to freedom.'
"'One day he was crossing the Lake of Rieti. The boatman in whose bark he was making the passage offered him a fish of uncommon size. Francis accepted it with joy, but, to the great amazement of the fisherman, put it back into the water, bidding it bless God.'
"Here is a story which I once read about a very good and distinguished man who tells how he learned when he was a boy not to kill even the smallest animal needlessly.
"'I saw one day a little spotted turtle sunning itself in the shallow water, and I lifted the stick in my hand to kill it, for, though I had never killed any creature, I had seen other boys kill birds, squirrels, and the like, and I had a disposition to follow their wicked example; but all at once something checked my little arm, and a voice within me said, clear and loud, "It is wrong," and so I held my uplifted stick until the turtle vanished from my sight. Then I went home and told my mother, and asked her what it was that told me it was wrong. She wiped a tear from her eye, and took me in her arms, and said: "Some call it conscience, but I call it the voice of God in the human soul. If you listen to it and obey it, then it will speak clearer and clearer, and always guide you right. But if you do not listen to it, or disobey it, then it will fade out, little by little, and leave you in the dark without a guide. Your life, my child, depends on heeding that little voice."'
"And here are some poems which teach us to be gentle and kind to the dumb animals who depend upon us for life and look to us for mercy. The poet Cowper says:--