iii8 



THE NATURE BOOK 



TREES AT GRAY'S INN. 



Picfoj ial Agency. 



sad grey waste ; and not all of the birds 

 pass on : year by year the ring-doves 

 come back to the Bank of England, not 

 to draw their April di\ddends, but to 

 build again their love nest in the old 

 lime tree that leans across the Bank's 

 garden. 



This place is surely the unique example 

 of the hortus inclnsiis — " a garden walled 

 round," indeed, with walls ten miles 

 thick. Strange that the centre of this 

 world-mart, the inner sanctum of the 

 Temple of Mammon itself, should be — a 

 garden ; that this city of money-makers 

 should bear in its heart of hearts this tender 

 green spot. A httle quiet nook where 

 mornings are fresh and dewy, where 

 flowers bloom, living ropes of creepers 

 festoon the walls, and flickering hghts 

 and shadows da]:)ple the ground ; where 

 the music of rustUng leaves, and the sweet 

 odour of blossoms, are shaken from droop- 

 ing boughs, and the ripple of faUing 

 water mingles with the cooing of the 

 dove ; and where the Bank clerks may 

 beguile the long summer afternoons by 

 watching from the windows the mother 

 bird, as, " with fond endearments," she 

 teaches her fluttering young ones the use 

 of their wings. 



A restful noonday haunt is the Tower, 

 with its surrounding gardens ; much 

 frequented of working men, who sit at 

 ease and smoke after-dinner tobacco. 

 The sparrows would seem, by force of 

 constant association, to have adopted 

 human modes of hfe, and to strictly observe 

 the dinner-hour leisure. However urgent 

 may be the season's duties — nest building, 

 feeding and educating the young, or 

 what not — the s])arrows always seem to 

 be given ov^er to idleness at this time of 

 day ; picking up, none too eagerly, stray 

 crumbs, lazily trimming feathers, or, more 

 commonly, simply lounging. 



The gardens arc pleasantly original in 

 design and cultivation : the conventional 

 order, lawn, flower bed, shrubbery and 

 gravel, is confined to the private garden 

 of Trinity Square — where may be seen, 

 by the by, the very largest trees of the 

 City. For the rest there is a steep bank 

 garden on the north and west sides of the 

 buildings, with an unusually varied and 

 thriving array of trees ; the ash, so rare 

 in London, wych and common elms, 

 sycamores and flowering cherries, with 

 black poplars that atone for their ungainli- 

 ness by their great size ; much homely 

 underwood, elder, lilac and privet, and 



