'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!
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 clearly thinks his family is in danger.