A DURBAR. 



sits unostentatiously in a corner, with even its gorgeous 

 crest folded decently down. Every minute or two it trots 

 out to one of those cup-shaped little hollows in the dust, 

 where the ant-lion lies in wait. Once a poor-ant slips over 

 the treacherous edge of that crater, it has as much chance 

 of coming out again as Empedocles from Etna. It may 

 struggle to keep its footing on the slippery bank, but the 

 unseen monster below jerks up showers of sand, and soon 



sand and ant go rolling down together, where the out- 

 stretched grey jaws lie waiting in the dust. The hoopoe 

 knows exactly what is there, pokes its long beak down into 

 the funnel, fumbles about for a moment, and pulls out 

 the slayer of ants, to be swallowed like a pill. 



Along with the birds a pretty green lizard used to come 

 every forenoon, shikarring ants and other insects, but it 

 was breakfasted on yesterday by that sinister-looking 

 butcher-bird which now stands on the floor of the verandah, 

 with legs straddled, like Apollyon in the Valley of Humilia- 



