MOOR-HENS IN HYDE PARK 169 



voices left i What aerial chimes are those wafted from 

 the leafy turret of every tree i What clear, choral 

 songs so wild, so glad t What strange instruments, 

 not made with hands, so deftly touched and soul- 

 fully breathed upon t What faint melodious mur- 

 murings that float around us, mysterious and tender 

 as the lisping of leaves t Who could be so dull and 

 exact as to ask the names of such choristers at such 

 a time ! Earthly names they have, the names we 

 give them, when they visit us, and when we write 

 about them in our dreary books; but, doubtless, 

 in their brighter home in cloudland they are called 

 by other more suitable appellatives* 



Kew is exceptionally favoured for the reason 

 mentioned, but birds are also abundant where 

 there are no hired men with red waistcoats and 

 brass buttons to watch over their safety* Why do 

 they press so persistently around us ; and not in 

 London only, but in every town and village, every 

 house and cottage in this country i Why are they 

 always waiting, congregating as far from us as the 

 depth of garden, lawn, or orchard will allow, yet 

 always near as they dare to come $* It is not senti- 

 ment, and to be translated into such words as these 

 " O man, why are you unfriendly towards us, or 

 else so indifferent to our existence that you do not 

 note that your children, dependents, and neighbours 

 cruelly persecute us 4 For we are for peace, and 



