The pelicans in St. James's Park On every day from dawn to dark Pursue, inscrutable of mien, A fixed unvarying routine. Whatever be the wind or weather They spend their time in peace together, And plainly nothing can upset The harmony of their quartet. Most punctually by the clock They roost upon or quit their rock, Or swim ashore and hold their levee, Lords of the mixed lacustrine bevy; Or with their slow unwieldy gait Their green domain perambulate, Or with prodigious flaps and prances Indulge in their peculiar dances, Returning to their feeding-ground What time the keeper goes his round With fish and scraps for their nutrition After laborious deglutition. Calm, self-sufficing, self-possessed, They never mingle with the rest, Watching with not unfriendly eye The antics of the lesser fry, Save when bold sparrows draw too near Their mighty beaks--and disappear. Outlandish birds, at times grotesque, And yet superbly picturesque, Although resignedly we mourn A Park dismantled and forlorn, Long may it be ere you forsake Your quarters on the minished Lake; For there, with splendid plumes and hues And ways that startle and amuse, You constantly refresh the eye And cheer the heart of passers-by, Untouched by years of shock and strain, Undeviatingly urbane, And lending London's commonplace A touch of true heraldic grace. * * * * * RING IN THE OLD. There is a shabby-looking man who (I read it in _The Times_) rings the bell of London hospitals, asks to see the secretary, presumes (as is always a safe thing to do) that the establishment is grievously in need of funds, and without any further parley hands to the startled but gratified official bank-notes to the tune of five hundred pounds. He then vanishes without giving name or address. This unknown benefactor is dressed in top-boots, riding breeches of honourable antiquity, a black coat green with age and a "Cup Final" cap. At the same time (this too on _The Times'_ authority) there is an oddly and obsolescently attired lady going about who also makes London hospitals her hobby. She begins by asking the secretary if she may take off her boots, and, receiving permission, takes them off, places her feet on an adjacent chair and hands him two thousand pounds. The result of the activities of these angelic visitants is that all the other hospital porters have had instructions from their eager and hopeful secretaries to be careful to be polite to any and every person, even though he or she should be in rags, who expresses the faintest desire to enter on business; more than polite--solicitous, welcoming, cordial; while all the secretaries are at this moment polishing up their smiles and practising an easy manner with ladies in last century costumes who put sudden and unexpected requests.