228 BIEDS IN LONDON 



sounds of tits of several species, of wren, tree- 

 creeper, goldcrest, nuthatch, lesser spotted 

 woodpecker, robin, greenfinch and chaffinch, 

 and in winter the siskin and redpole. Listen- 

 ing to this fairy-like musical prattle, or attend- 

 ing to your own 1 thoughts, there is but one 

 thing, one sound, to break the illusion of 

 remoteness from the toiling crowded world of 

 London the report at intervals of a big gun 

 from the Arsenal, three miles away. Too far 

 for the jarring and shrieking sounds of machinery 

 and the noisy toil of some sixteen to eighteen 

 thousand men perpetually engaged in the manu- 

 facture of arms to reach the woods ; but the dull, 

 thunderous roar of the big gun travels over wide 

 leagues of country ; and the hermit, startled out 

 of his meditations, is apt to wish with the poet 

 that the old god of war himself was dead, and 

 rotting on his iron hills ; or else that he would 

 make his hostile preparations with less noise. 



At the end of day, windless after wind, or 

 with a clear sky after rain, when the guns 

 have ceased to boom, the woods are at their 

 best. Then the birds are most vocal, their 

 voices purer, more spiritual, than at other 

 times. Then the level sun, that flatters all 



