THE WHITE-RUMPED SHRIKE. 



355 



audience which Ole Hull secured by awkwardly Ijreaking- one string- after an- 

 other on his violin, till only one was left. There, howe\er. the resemblance 

 ceases, for where the virtuoso could extract a melody of mar\eliius \ariety and 

 sweetness from his single string, the bird produces the sole note of a struck 

 anvil. This pours forth in successive three-syllabled phrases like the metallic 

 an'l reiterative clink of a freely falling hammer. The chief difference which 



Taken in Dough 



THE SIIRIKK'S PKKSKKVIi. 



appears between this love song and the ordinary call of warning or excitement 

 is that in the latter case the less tender passions have weighted the clanging 

 anvil with scrap iron and destroyed its resonance. 



The Shrike is a bird of prey but he is no restless prowler or iKnerer, wear- 

 ing out his wings with incessant flight — not he. Choosing rather a commanding 

 position on a telegra])h wire, or ex])osed l)ush top. he searches the ground with 

 his eye until he detects some sus])icious movement of insect, mouse, or bird. 

 Then he dives down amongst the sage, and if successful returns to his ])OSt to 

 devour at leisure. The bird does not remain long enough at one station to in- 

 spire a permanent dread in the local i)opulation of comestibles: but rathermoves 

 on from ]iost to post at short inter\-als and in nietliodical fashion. In flight the 



