By and by the Park will have a new and sensational attraction.  The antediluvian monsters of that great FRANKENSTEIN of the period, Mr. WATERHOUSE HAWKINS, will soon be advanced enough to “give fits” to the nursery-maids and their tender charges.  Accipitrine in features as in name, Mr. HAWKINS is a living illustration of the Darwinian theory.  Certainly his remote ancestors must have been of the falcon family.  He revels in birds; though, when he cannot obtain those, he can put up with lizards, which he usually prefers manufactured, and of a length not less than from sixty to one hundred feet.  This reminds us that a saurian of a hundred feet should not be confounded with a centipede.

It will be seen, then, that the landscape-gardens of our great city are in a fair way of being able to afford some illustrations for students of Natural History more interesting than the oyster-shells and old boots with which most of them have hitherto been stocked.

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FRUIT FOR BALLOONISTS.  Currents in the air.

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[Illustration:  FASHION CORRESPONDENTS REPORT THAT “NETS ARE TO BE WORN MUCH LONGER.”  PUNCHINELLO SUGGESTS, THEN, THAT THEY MIGHT BE PROFITABLY ADAPTED FOR CATCHING FISH AS WELL AS BEAUX.]

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THE AVERAGE THANKSGIVING.

NINE O’CLOCK A.M.

    I’m thankful I was bright enough, this year,
      To have my turkey bought a week ahead! 
    Oh, what a bird it is!  ’Twas awful dear,—­
      But, thank the Lord! the turkey’s been well fed.

TEN O’CLOCK A.M.

    There!  I’ve forgot the oysters.  Thank the Lord,
      There’s time enough with early church; Old GRIMES,
    I hope, will pity us to-day; he’s bored
      A hungry crowd so many, many times.

ELEVEN O’CLOCK A.M.

    Oh, what a crowd!  Hallo!  Another man! 
      Well, thank the Lord, ’twill be a change, at least;
    I s’pose he’ll aggravate us all he can: 
      And that’s so easy just before a feast.

TWELVE O’CLOCK M.

Oh, what a bore!  He’s worse than Grimes by half;
  So slow!—­That turkey will be done to rags!—­
I’m famished!  I could eat the fatted calf. 
  There!  Thank the Lord!  He’s winding up; he fags.

ONE P.M.

    Give me the knife.  Be quick, my love, be quick! 
      I never was so hungry in my life! 
    Well, thank the Lord, that tedious old stick
      Did let us off.—­Oh, hang this carving-knife!

TWO P.M.

    I wish I had not eaten quite so much;
      But, really, the mince-pie was so prime! 
    You gave it just the real, old, fancy touch. 
      There! (Thank the Lord, I got the meat in time.)

THREE P.M.

    My eyes! how sleepy I have grown since noon! 
      Some wine or music, now, would make me gay;
    Come, ANNA, let us have a little tune—­
      There! thank the Lord, there’s no more work to-day.