
KIDD’S CWN JOURNAL. 283 

And then, the pranks and pastimes which 
succeed! the frolics so void of guile, so full 
of glee! The clear and ringing laughter of 
the children,—so silvery, so ripe, so round ; 
so evidently and entirely from the heart! 
the tumultuous happiness of blind man’s buff; 
the trepidation of hunt the slipper; the 
puzzling riddles and the forfeits, that equally 
perplex ; the project of a dance,—a_ real 
old-fashioned country-dance,—so suddenly 
conceived, and carried out so zealously. 
And, in the pauses of the dance, comes the 
liquid soaring voice of some _half-bashfnl 
maiden, trilling an old, old melody—a 
simple ballad from the lips of simple beauty, 
rapturously encored. 
Other pauses in the dance, too, now and 
then occur—wilful premeditated pauses, in- 
variably made beneath the silver-berried 
misseltoe, and kisses are stolen with a 
wonderful efirontery (to the scandal of the 
assembled company) ; until, in turn, the other 
members of the company are similarly 
attacked; and then it is remarkable that 
those who were the noisiest in their “oh! 
oh!” submit to similar malpractices without 
amurmur. The little obese bachelor himself 
contrives to leave his vinous friends; and, 
joining the merry-makers, makes most 
desperate and undiscriminating captures 
beneath the mystic bough, without encoun- 
tering a very violent opposition. Then, 
chuckling with delight, he leads a seven- 
years’ beauty down the dance with all the 
elasticity of an enfranchised schoolboy. 
So, evening deepens into night; and mid- 
night passes unobserved; and so the “ wee 
short hours ayont the twal” arrive before the 
festive company depart. Stars twinkle, and 
the setting moon blinks on dispersing 
revellers. And ever and anon you meet 
some other fragments of a party just now 
broken up, or pass a house yet ringing with 
the mirthful voices of its noisy inmates. 
Then, with a heart warmed with good-fellow- 
ship and wine, you seek the shelter of your 
own roof-tree; and, in a deep sound sleep, 
wind up the enjoyments of—Christmas Day. 

“A BOW DRAWN AT A VENTURE.” 

“Some people” are very callous. They have 
hearts harder than steel. Winter is coming; and 
we shall speedily hear of their shooting and 
“bagging” every living creature they see, that 
unhappily may be regarded as “ curious.” We 
should liketo “bag” them. Sir Wm. Jones says of 
such brutes :—“ I never could learn by what right, 
nor conceive with what feelings, a naturalist (!) 
can cause the misery of an innocent bird,—killing 
it because it has a gay plumage, and leaving its 
young perhaps to perish in a cold nest.” 'This 
savage propensity really 2s inexplicable; nor is 
any person practising it entitled to rank among 
“naturalists.” ‘The name is sadly prostituted ! 
Krwirw, 
Tue NATURALIST, No. 33. Groombridge 
and Sons. 
There are some very interesting communi- 
cations in this number, on a variety of 
subjects connected with botany and orni- 
thology, to which we beg to refer the curious 
reader. Among others, there is a paper on 
the red-backed shrike, or butcher-bird 
(Lanius Collurio), by Mr. Stephen Stone. 
From this we make an extract,—not failing 
(of course) to comment on the cruelty 
evinced by certain naturalists, whilst 
“bageing”’ everything that is curious. They 
hardly deserve the name of “‘ Naturalists” who 
are so unnatural. Mr. Stone, by the way, 
appears half ashamed of himself! 
The Red-backed Shrike is rather plentiful in 
Oxon and Bucks; it seldom makes its appearance 
in these counties before the latter end of April, or 
the beginning of May, being amongst the latest 
of our summer birds of passage. 
Although apparently of robust frame, it seems 
unable to bear the cold with the same degree of 
patience as the diminutive Chiff Chaff, and other 
species far more delicate-looking than itself; for 
in the unusually cold weather we had in June, 
1852, I used to see it sitting shivering on the 
sheltered side of the hedge, and looking as com- 
fortless, dejected, and woe-begone as our own fair 
sisters or cousins, “the maids of merry England,” 
are wont to look, when through some blunder of 
papa’s, or other inadvertence, they find themselves 
doomed to a month’s sojourn at some “‘ fashionable 
watering-place ’’ — ‘“‘furnished apartments with 
attendance” having been “ secured” for them for 
that period, before the commencement, or worse 
still, after the close of “the season.” In one of 
its habits, that of returning to a particular station, 
after capturing a passing insect, it closely re- 
sembles the Fly-catcher. 
I have known it take its stand for hours, near 
where a haystack has been in the course of for- 
mation, for the purpose of pouncing upon the 
moths which generally abound amongst newly- 
made hay; and which it seemed to be fully aware 
would every now and then be dislodged by the 
men engaged in building the stack, and thus 
afford it unlimited exercise of its “catch-me-if 
you-can” abilities, as well as an unlimited supply 
of food. These moths it generally caught on the 
wing ; but should one chance to “ come the artful 
dodge,” and endeavor to baffle the intentions of 
its pursuer, by dropping amongst the herbage, it 
would be down upon it in a moment, and unless 
the poor insect had very artfully concealed itself, 
would be sure to drag it out; and fortunate indeed 
must that individual be, who, by the above, or 
some other stratagem, succeeded in “saving its 
bacon.” 
I have often noticed this bird, when I have 
been out, with the net beating for moths, sitting 
on a conspicuous branch, and intently watching 
my proceedings ; when, should a moth escape my 
net, which not unfrequently happened, it would 
never fail immediately to give chase to it, and 
after capturing it, which it seldom failed to do, 


