RED ROOFS OF LONDON 



TILES and tile roofs have a curious way of tumbling 

 to pieces in an irregular and eye-pleasing manner. 

 The roof-tree bends, bows a little under the weight, 

 curves in, and yet preserves a sharpness at each end. 

 The Chinese exaggerate this curve of set purpose. 

 Our English curve is softer, being the product of 

 time, which always works in true taste. The mystery 

 of tile-laying is not known to every one; for to all 

 appearance tiles seem to be put on over a thin bed 

 of hay or hay-like stuff. Lately they have begun to 

 use some sort of tarpaulin or a coarse material of 

 that kind ; but the old tiles, I fancy, were comfortably 

 placed on a shake-down of hay. When one slips 

 off, little bits of hay stick up; and to these the 

 sparrows come, removing it bit by bit to line their 

 nests. If they can find a gap they get in, and a 

 fresh couple is started in life. By-and-by a chimney 

 is overthrown during a twist of the wind, and half 

 a dozen tiles are shattered. Time passes; and at 

 last the tiler arrives to mend the mischief. His labour 

 leaves a light red patch on the dark dull red of the 

 breadth about it. After another while the leaks 

 along the ridge need plastering: mortar is laid on 

 to stay the inroad of wet, adding a dull white and 

 forming a rough, uncertain undulation along the 

 general drooping curve. Yellow edgings of straw 

 project under the eaves the work of the sparrows. 

 A cluster of blue-tinted pigeons gathers about the 

 chimney-side ; the smoke that comes out of the stack 

 245 



