316 THE BIRD WATCHER 
tragedy. On it theggull lands, and, having dragged 
the carcase some way up, flings his head into the air, 
and exults with a wild, vociferous cry, in which his 
mate, who has now joined him, takes part. Then 
there is more feasting ; but in spite of the community 
of feeling which this duet implies, the second gull is 
not allowed to partake of the good cheer, but must 
wait till the provider of it has finished. Should she 
approach too near, such intrusion is vigorously re- 
pelled. Well, thank God for the touch of poetry, 
whenever it appears! There is something pic- 
turesquely wild, as well as savage, in the latter part 
of this sea-scene—the gull’s se deum, flung out to sea 
and sky; but anything more horrid, more ignobly, 
sordidly vile than what has preceded it, it would be 
hard to imagine. A kittiwake in its first full plum- 
age, which differs much from the parents’, is a very 
pretty bird, dove-like and innocent-looking. To see 
it savagely shaken and flung about, a huge hooked 
implement fastened in its slender throat, and that soft 
little head towzled, bitten on, mumbled, the wings all 
the while flapping in helpless and quite futile efforts 
to escape, is sickening. It is not the worst scene in 
nature certainly—serious deliberation amongst en- 
lightened statesmen can produce things a good deal 
more horrible—but it is bad enough, bad enough. 
It looks like the negation of God, but a much better 
case can be made out for its being the affirmation, so 
here is the consolatory reflection for which optimists 
are never at a loss. ‘‘There’s comfort yet,” as 
Macbeth says. 
