260 THE OPEN AIR. 



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 

 droops and floats sideways, downwards, as if the 

 chimney enjoyed the smother as a man enjoys his 

 pipe. Shattered here and cracked yonder, some 

 missing, some overlapping in curves, the tiles have 

 an aspect of irregular existence. They are not fixed, 

 like slates, as it were for ever : they have a newness, 

 and then a middle-age, and a time of decay like 

 human beings. 



One roof is not much ; but it is often a study. 

 Put a thousand roofs, say rather thousands of red- 

 tiled roofs, and overlook them not at a great altitude, 

 but at a pleasant easy angle and then you have the 

 groundwork of the first view of London over Ber- 

 mondsey from the railway. I say groundwork, 

 because the roofs seem the level and surface of the 

 earth, while the glimpses of streets are glimpses 

 of catacombs. A city as something to look at 

 depends very much on its roofs. If a city have no 

 character in its roofs it stirs neither heart nor thought. 

 These red-tiled roofs of Bermondsey, stretching away 

 mile upon mile, and brought up at the extremity with 

 thin masts rising above the mist these red-tiled 

 roofs have a distinctiveness, a character; they are 

 something to think about. Nowhere else is there an 

 entrance to a city like this. The roads by which you 

 approach them give you distant aspects minarets, 



