A Woodland Tkaokdy ■;}, 



ot slauj^htcr. And observe tli.it cacli actor m this 

 drama of death is as careless as to the lile he 

 sacrilices and the pain he causes as the anj^ler 

 is careless as to the feelings ol the minnow he 

 impales upon his harbed hook, or the sportsman 

 is careless as to the letlin^s of the happy birds 

 he brings down with his cartridj^es. 



Nevertheless, when we come across one pa^e 

 in this vast nuite tragedy of sentient life amon^ 

 the calm smroundin<^s of a tjniet wood, it always 

 surprises us afresh ; and that is why 1 have 

 chosen as a ^ood illustrative case «)f this phase 

 in nature my wicked old friend the sluike, or 

 butcher-bird. 



Kxternally, I do not know that there is any- 

 thing about his personal appearance which mij^ht 

 lead you to suppose lie was much wickeder or 

 liercer than the remainder of his family. in 

 costume and c()lourin<4 he is cjuiet and denuue, 

 not to say almost cpiakerish. To be sure, there 

 is a lurkiii;^ j^leam in the cornei- of his eve, when 

 you j^et a close view of him, which betokens a 

 ciafty and cruel disposition ; while somethinj^ 

 about the peculiar curl at the tip of his beak 

 seems to suj^j^est a lordly iufjifference to sutfer- 

 inj^ in others, lint on the whole he is a hypo- 

 crite in his outer dress ; v<>u would hardly suspect 

 him at fust si^ht of the hi^h crimes and nus- 

 ilenieanours of which I adunt him to be really 

 guilty. Still, v<tu do not know a thrush till you 

 have seen him eat worms alive slowlv, a mouthful 

 at a lime, pullini; them out of their holes and 



