The Wild Wood Is Pretty Well Populated

The Smell Of That Buttered Toast Simply Spoke To Toad, And With No Uncertain Voice; Talked Of Warm Kitchens, Of Breakfasts On Bright Frosty Mornings, Of Cozy Parlour Firesides On Winter Evenings, When One's Ramble Was Over And Slippered Feet Were Propped On The Fender; Of The Purring Of Contented Cats, And The Twitter Of Sleepy Canaries.

Footprints In The Snow Have Been Unfailing Provokers Of Sentiment Ever Since Snow Was First A White Wonder In This Drab-coloured World Of Ours.

He Had Got Down To The Bones Of It, And They Were Fine And Strong And Simple.

The Past Was Like A Bad Dream; The Future Was All Happy Holiday As I Moved Southwards Week By Week, Easily, Lazily, Lingering As Long As I Dared, But Always Heeding The Call!

Since Early Morning He Had Been Swimming In The River, In Company With His Friends The Ducks. And When The Ducks Stood On Their Heads Suddenly, As Ducks Will, He Would Dive Down And Tickle Their Necks, Just Under Where Their Chins Would Be If Ducks Had Chins, Till They Were Forced To Come To The Surface Again In A Hurry, Spluttering And Angry And Shaking Their Feathers At Him, For It Is Impossible To Say Quite All You Feel When Your Head Is Under Water.