XIII 

 THE BIRDS OF LONDON 



THE rooks no longer build their nests in the 

 Temple Gardens, and the thrushes and red- 

 breasts, which, even fifty years ago, were 

 wont to haunt the suburban gardens in the neigh- 

 bourhood of what are now the main arteries of 

 London traffic have long since retired before the 

 ever-rising tide of bricks and mortar. Nevertheless 

 what is left of London bird-life has not ceased to 

 be interesting. On the contrary as the fog-pall has 

 thickened over modern Babylon it has acquired a 

 new interest which is peculiar to itself. 



It is early morning in the month of May, and I 

 am leaning against the window casement. It is 

 light, but still some time before sunrise, and the air 

 has that feeling which is peculiar to London air 

 only in the spring in this hour out of twenty-four. 

 The faint fresh odour brings into the mind for a 

 moment a vision of a far off lake amongst my native 

 hills from whose still surface the mist is just now 

 beginning to rise, and the familiar cry of the coot 

 as she sails out from the sedge, where during the 

 night she has added another speckled egg to the 



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