ps he will chatter
his beak savagely, with a noise like the clatter of the lid on an empty
cigar-box; but he will continue his sham meditations. "Ah, my friend,"
he seems to say, "you are empty and frivolous--I cogitate the profounder
immensities of esoteric cogibundity." The fact being that he is very
seedy after his previous night's dissipation.

[Illustration]

That is the chief secret of the stork's solemnity, I am convinced. He
has a certain reputation to maintain before visitors, but after hours,
when the gates are shut and the keepers are not there to see, the
marabou stork is a sad dog. I haven't quite made up my mind what he
drinks, but if he has brandies and sodas he leaves out too much soda.
Look at that awful nose! It is long past the crimson and pimply
stage--it is taking a decided tinge of blue. It _looks_ worse than
brandy and soda--almost like bad gin--but we will be as charitable as
possible, and only call it brandy and soda.

I should like to see the marabou stork on his nightly ran-tan, if only
to gloat over his lapse of dignity, just as one would give much to see
Benjamin Franklin with his face blacked, drunk and disorderly and being
locked up. But, as a shocking example, the marabou is quite bad enough
with his awful head in the morning; his awful head and his disreputable
nose, that looks to want a good scraping. I respect Billy, the adjutant,
for his long service and the Tangerine at the back of his neck. The
ordinary stork (although he swears and snaps) I also respect, because
the goody books used to tell pious lies about him. The whale-headed
stork, which is also called the shoe-bird, I respect as a sort of
relative of the shoo-fly that didn't bother somebody. But the marabou
has forfeited all respect--converted it into nose-tint. I must talk to
Church seriously about the marabou.

[Illustration: THE RAN-TAN.]

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