THE SHRIKE'S SONG. 57 



crude broken warble," — " saluting the sun as a 

 robin might have done." Winter, indeed, seems 

 to be his chosen time for singing, and an orni- 

 thologist in St. Albans says that in that season 

 he sings by the hour in the streets of the town. 



Therefore did I sit unobtrusively on the near 

 side of the thorn-tree, leaving the birds their 

 screen, to encourage them to sing ; and at last 

 I had my reward. One very hot day I did not 

 reach my place under the maple till after nine 

 o'clock, and I found the shrike, as I frequently 

 did, on the fence, on guard. In a few moments, 

 when I had become quiet, he went to the nest, 

 and sitting there on the edge, hidden from my 

 distinct view, he condescended to sing, a low, 

 sweet song, truly musical, though simple in con- 

 struction, being merely a single clear note fol- 

 lowed by a trill several tones higher. After 

 delivering this attractive little aria a dozen or 

 more times, he flew out of the tree and over my 

 head, and sang no more. 



My curiosity about his song being thus grati- 

 fied, I decided to seek a better post of observa- 

 tion ; for I hoped every day to find that sitting 

 was over, and the*youug had appeared. I there- 

 fore walked farther up the road, quite past the 

 tree, and took my seat beside the fence, where I 

 could see the whole nest perfectly. The birds 

 at once recognized that all hope of concealment 



