tur non fit," which is in English, "British boys are
ducklings born to the water."

Now many of these have affectionate parents not web-footed, and the
filial duty of a little duck to the motherly hen is a very difficult
question of conscience when a pond is near; but then there is no positive
need to boat, while there _is_ a positive command to obey. This ought to
solve the question with all brave loving boys, who are manly enough to
obey the woman dearest on earth to them.

A little vessel two feet long may be called a toy ship, but it is a toy
that can teach much to an Admiral, and I should not like to have as my
comrade on a voyage the man of forty who can pass the Serpentine without
a glance at the little ragged urchin there, who is half in the water
himself while he reaches with a twig his tiny lugger after its long
voyage across the lake among ducks, and row-boats, and billows two inches
high.

Victoria Park, again, has a feast of nauticalities now and then for boys
who love boats, when the Model Yacht Club sails its liliputian squadron
for a half-crown cup.

The competing yachts first lie on the green grass for inspection. They
are made in "off hours" by working men, who sail as well as build them.
Wife or a school-girl daughter has sewed the sails, and the paint on the
hull is gorgeous. Crowds of all classes and ages are at the
starting-post, and when the pistol fires the cheers begin. Each
favourite in the fleet has its admirers, who run alongside, and the
Secretary alone has a grave face, as of a man on important duty. Who can
say what sailors' seedlings may be watered in that pond, and to grow up
in manhood afterwards as hearts of oak?

And if a boy is too young, or lazy, or clumsy-fingered to make a boat for
himself, let him go along Fleet Street till he comes to the spot where he
can turn his back upon St. Dunstan's church. Depend upon it he will
cross over to the _Model Dockyard_ there, and after buttoning his jacket
over his watch-chain, and a good shove down to his pocket-handkerchief,
if he has one, let him wriggle in by elbow and knees till he gets a good
place among the crowd at the window.

Even when it is time to go home he will not have seen half the naval
stores here, or the little sailors--from Cork--all waiting to be engaged;
but if he buys the _Illustrated Handibook_ inside from the civil shopman,
to con at home, perhaps at his next visit he may be admitted up-stairs to
a deliciou