MOOR-HENS IN HYDE PARK 169 



voices left 5" What aerial chimes are those wafted from 

 the leafy turret of every tree ^ What clear, choral 

 songs — so wild, so glad i What strange instruments, 

 not made with hands, so deftly touched and soul- 

 fuUy breathed upon i What faint melodious mur- ' 

 murings that float around us, mysterious and tender 

 as the lisping of leaves i 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 

 alwajrs waiting, congregating as far from us as the 

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

 always near as they dare to come i 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 i For we are for peace, and 



