Water, trees, fruit, and perfumed flowers- this is the order of an Indian garden; then come the birds. No conception of a Hindu or Moslem Paradise is possible without their bright daintiness and sweet little songs. The birds, too, for all their gaiety, are wise-shall we not rather say are gay because they are wise? Birds fly everywhere and know everything.; whence the old classic 'Auspicium' or 'Augurium,' and trees are specially planted to attract them. Every garden should have its close dark cypresses for them to nest in; for Kapolas the dove, and Cukas the green parrot of love, who shares with the Bignonia creeper twining through the lattice the honour of being Kama Devas messenger. Kokilas, the Indian cuckoo, whose song the vain peacock tries to rival, never sings his sweetest until he sees the buds of the palace Asoka-tree burst into flower. He is the bird of the Hindu poets and teaches them melody-an odd music-master, to, our ears. Vartika, the watchful quail, shares the grass-plot with the hoopoes, who are to be encouraged as much for their graceful shape and dainty crest as for their song, the prediction of a plentiful vintage. The red geese are Brahmas birds of sunrise; and no garden can expect to prosper without the divine twins, the white Hanas, the ducks or swans of good fortune, swimming on its pools, and the butterflies of good luck, the souls of the departed, hovering in bliss over the flowers.
