Now, the pelican is no humbug. There is nothing like concealment about his little dissipations; and he is perfectly sober. Any little irregularity at the pelican club just opposite the eastern aviary never goes beyond a quiet round or two for a little fish dinner. It is quite a select and a most proper club. Indeed, the first rule is, that if any loose fish be found on the club premises, he is got rid of at once by the first member who detects him. And the club spirit is such that disputes frequently occur among members for the honour of carrying out this salutary rule. The chairman of the club is an old crested pelican, who, by some oversight, has never been provided with a private name of his own. I think he should be called Peter, because he can take such a miraculous draught of fishes. It _is_ a draught; you know--a pelican doesn't eat fishes--he drinks them down in bulk. For Peter, a dozen or so fresh herrings is a mere swill round of the mouth. [Illustration: A QUIET ROUND OR TWO.] Peter walks about the club premises with much dignity, deferred to on all sides by the other members. His kingship is rarely disputed, having been achieved by the sort of conquest most familiar in the pelican club; and his divine right is as much respected as his tremendous left. A pelican never bears malice; he hasn't time, especially now, with competition so keen in the fish business, and Church's fish pails only of the ordinary size. There is never any ill-feeling after a little spar, and each proceeds, in the most amicable way, to steal some other pelican's fish. A spar at this club, by-the-bye, is a joyous and hilarious sight. Two big birds with stumpy legs and top-heavy beaks, solemnly prancing and manoeuvring before one another with an accompaniment of valiant gobbles and a punctuation of occasional pecks--a gleesome spectacle. [Illustration: PETER.] [Illustration: A SWILL ROUND.] Another sport much exhibited at the pelican club is that of the broadsword. The school of fence is that of Mr. Vincent Crummies--one--two--three--four--over; one--two--three--four--under. You see, when a dozen or two birds with beaks a couple of feet long or so get together in a small area, and now and again rush all in the same direction for fish, fencing is certain to develop, sooner or later. So here you have it, _secundum artem_--one--two--three--four--over; one--two--three--four--under; and although none have yet attained the Crummleian degree of knocking out sparks, there is a deal of hollow noise, as of thumping on a wooden box. But there is never any after-malice, and in less than five minutes either combatant will swallow a fish rightfully belonging to the other, with perfect affability. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration]