y den,
And wandered forth amid the haunts of men.
What did he want? Of course he wanted food--
A tender duck, or something quite as good;
But though he wandered far and wandered near,
No duckling could he see his heart to cheer.

Through fields and copses did the poor fox go,
With hungry longings and a heart of woe.
Thought he, 'It's very plain that dainty food
I cannot find to-day; still, something good
May yet turn up. But stay! what's that I see
Hanging asleep upon the old ash-tree?

'I do declare the creature is a crow--
Not very tempting to the taste, I know;
But still, if nothing better can be had,
Perhaps it may not taste so very bad.
So up at once he jumped, and seized the bird,
But how it tasted--well, I've never heard!

M. K.

[Illustration: A Corner of Hyde Park.]

THE PARKS OF LONDON.

I.

I wonder if you who read this are a Londoner, and, if so, whether you
have ever sailed paper boats on the Serpentine? Can you remember
watching your fleet of snowy paper spreading their white wings and
sailing away into the far distance, after the manner of Christopher
Columbus or Vasco di Gama? Or have you seen your toy ships driven by
fierce winds on to a lee shore bristling with cruel crags and yawning
clefts?

A very ocean it is, no doubt, to the feathered creatures that float upon
its waters, shelter beneath its rush-lined banks, and spend their whole
family life within its borders. Here the babies are born, and here the
tiny birds take their first airings--some perched on their mother's
back, some swimming beside her without a thought of danger. Nothing is
more delightful to the children of all classes who daily throng the park
than a family of ducklings having their first lesson in the way to take
care of themselves. One way or another, the duck tribe come in for more
practical attention than all the other birds put together; for most
people like to have their kindness warmly met, and no duck ever says
'No' to an offer of food.

Once in a way a stately swan may condescend to pick up a bit of bun or
biscuit, but it is done with such a proud air, that the duck's ready
gratitude and eagerness is more attractive. Here and there, in very
quiet nooks overlooking the water, may be seen a group of bunnies,
nibbling some dainty weed, and far too much at home to pay attention to
the warlike looks and noisy cries of Father Duck, who cl