84 Summer 



WILD LIFE IN LONDON 



THE Londoner's affection for wild things is one of 

 the most touching features of his character, but it is 

 altogether different from the countryman's. Often it 

 is horribly cruel. Whoever has explored a residential 

 slum must have pitied, almost as much as the wretched 

 children, the still more wretched wild birds seeking 

 to fleet their confinement with delirious music. Larks 

 of smoky hue and bedraggled feather pour forth their 

 strains of unpremeditated art from cages wherein is 

 scarce room to turn ; a tricky siskin lifts his tiny can 

 of food and water next door to a squirrel which is 

 bringing on a galloping consumption by the furious 

 ardour with which he turns his wheel for lack of aught 

 else to do ; chaffinch, and linnet, and starling, thrush, 

 and blackbird chirp and sing with a Mark Tapleyism 

 more distressing than silence. In a moorland cottage 

 or a quiet hamlet you may see the same species 

 almost as closely cabined, yet as merry as if they had 

 never known delightful liberty. The word of the 

 riddle explains how very much wild creatures are 

 slaves to habit. The urban bird-catcher gets the most 

 of his birds in the dead of winter. They are old, and 

 they can never be anything but wild. It is hard to 

 understand how even in the slums (but you find them 

 in places which are not slums at all) the torture of 

 captivity should be their owner's joy. It would be 



