BIRDS. 53 



esting phase of their lives, and correspondingly 

 difficult to study, apart from mere brute-fighting 

 for the fair. Whilst my brother waits inside one 

 of our hiding contrivances for some bird to return 

 to her nest and be photographed, I often wander 

 round, or sit at a respectable distance, field-glasses 

 in hand and as still as a statue. One morning last 

 spring I watched a pair of red-backed shrikes, or 

 butcher-birds, sweethearting, and the antics of the 

 male were both amusing and interesting. He flew 

 up into a tolerably high oak and began to shake 

 his wings, which he allowed to droop loosely by 

 his sides as if he were stricken with palsy. The 

 female followed and, perching close beside her lord 

 and master, listened attentively to some poor 

 attempts at a warbling kind of song, which was 

 accompanied by an awkward sort of dance. When 

 this entertainment had lasted for half a minute or 

 so, the gay Lothario flung himself headlong from his 

 perch and sailed through the air with outstretched 

 wings to another coign of vantage, evidently for the 

 express purpose of showing off the richly-coloured 

 plumage of his upper parts. He then began to 

 quiver his drooping wings all over again, and if 

 his companion did not immediately join him he 

 returned to fetch her. Once or twice he flew down 

 to the ground, and picking up a dainty morsel of 

 food flew back and gave it to his sweetheart in the 

 most gallant manner. During their love-making 

 they wandered along a hedgerow close past me, as 



