

THE SHRIKE'S LARDER. 



Butcher-birds, the gamekeepers call them, 

 and well they deserve the title ; for they 

 catch and spit alive on the thorns of their 

 larder all the bumble-bees and beetles, all 

 the field-mice and robins they can swoop 

 down upon and surprise from their bosky 

 ambush. Cruel and ruthless birds, they 

 seize whatever they can hold ; but, instead 

 of killing and eating their prey at once, they 

 keep it deliberately alive as long as possible, 

 on the stout thorn of a sloe-tree. Look 

 at that poor shrew-mouse, for example, 

 wriggling feebly on his stake, which the 

 cunning bird has so managed to intertwine 

 among the twigs as to make escape impos- 

 sible ; he must have been hanging there in 

 torture for a week by his look, but the 

 shrike will not eat him till the last possible 

 moment, unless so minded. And that poor 

 lizard, again, with his wonderful tenacity of 

 life ; he may have been impaled for a fort- 

 night, yet the skin on his ribs still rises 

 and falls with a faint breathing action. 

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