small bird that has taken refuge in a 

 bush, hovers over the quarry almost pre- 

 cisely after the manner of the sparrow 

 hawk. There are few more fascinating 

 sights in nature than that of the bird with 

 its body absolutely motionless, but with 

 its wings moving with the rapidity of the 

 blades of an electric fan. Sharply out- 

 lined against the sky, it fixes the atten- 

 tion and rouses an interest that leaves lit- 

 tle room for sympathy with the intended 

 victim that one knows is cowering be- 

 low. A mouse in the open has little 

 chance for escape from the clutches of 

 the hovering shrike. Birds, however, 

 which have wisdom enough to stay in the 

 bush and trust to its shelter rather than 

 to launch out into open flight, are more 

 than apt to escape with their lives. In 

 February last I saw two shrike-pursued 

 English sparrows take to the cover of a 

 vine-covered lilac shrub. They sought 

 a place well near the roots. While flying 

 they had shown every symptom of fear 

 and were making a better pace than I 

 had ever seen one of their tribe make be- 

 fore. The shrike brought itself up 

 sharply in midair directly over the lilac, 

 and there it hovered on light wing and 

 looked longingly downward through the 

 interlacing stems at the sparrows. It 

 paid no heed to its human observer, who 

 was standing within a few feet and who, 

 to his amazement, saw an utter absence 

 of any appearance of fear on the part of 



the sparrows. They apparently knew that 

 the shrike could not strike them down 

 because of the intervening branches. 

 They must have known also that owing 

 to the comparative clumsiness of their 

 pursuer when making its way on foot 

 through and along twigs and limbs, that 

 they could easily elude him if he made 

 an attempt at capture after that manner. 

 Finally the shrike forsook the tip of the 

 lilac bush and began working its way 

 downward along the outer edge of the 

 shrub. When it had approached to a 

 point as near as the sparrows thought 

 vas comfortable, they shifted their posi- 

 tion in the bush. The shrike saw that 

 the quest was useless unless he could 

 start them to flight. He tried it, but they 

 were too cunning for him, and he at last 

 gave up the chase, the progress of which 

 actually seemed to humiliate him. He 

 flew afar off, where, perhaps, the pros- 

 pects of dinner were better. 



I once saw a goldfinch in winter plu- 

 mage escape a Great Northern Shrike by 

 taking a flight directly at the zenith. The 

 shrike followed the dainty little tidbit far 

 up, until the larger bird was only a speck 

 and the little one had disappeared en- 

 tirely. The shrike apparently could 

 neither stand the pace nor the altitude, 

 and the watchers, with whom the gold- 

 finch was the favorite in the race, rejoiced 

 with the winner. 



Edward Brayton Clark. 



ORIOLE. 



Hush! 'Tis he! 

 My oriole, my glance of summer fire, 

 Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 

 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 

 About the bough to help his housekeeping — 

 Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 

 Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 

 Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 

 Divines the providence that hides and helps. 



— James Russell Lowell, "Under the Willows." 



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