FOUR NEIGHBORS DIVERSE 



wing is the carnivorous shrike. Of the two species, 

 the bold Northern Shrike, or Butcher-bird, is the one 

 with which I am the more familiar. We only have it 

 in winter, from November to about early April. Most 

 often it appears to our view as a solitary, gray-colored 

 bird, nearly as large as a Robin, perched up on the 

 topmost twig of some isolated tree, in a field or by 

 the roadside. While we watch, it may suddenly dive 

 down into the bushes or grass below, perhaps returning 

 to its perch without result, or it may be with a mouse 

 or a poor Tree Sparrow or Junco, grasped by the neck 

 by the strong, toothed beak. If hungry, it will proceed 

 to devour the victim like a little hawk. But at times 

 it seems to kill merely from habit, and will impale its 

 slaughtered victim on a thorn in the thicket, or suspend 

 it in a crotch, and leave it. It is doubtful if this is 

 done to provide for the future. Surely, in cold winter 

 weather, when the meat would freeze solid, the shrike 

 could hardly be supposed to eat it. Sometimes, when 

 one of these birds of murderous taste locates in a town 

 and practices its talents on English Sparrows, we come 

 to feel friendly toward it. 



I remember how surprised I was the first time I 

 heard the Butcher-bird sing. It was in March, and on 

 the topmost twig of a small elm on the edge of a field 

 stood a bird which at once I called a shrike. As I 

 drew near I was greatly surprised to hear it warbling 

 away very prettily. At that time I had not read that 

 butchering and musicianship could unite in an indi- 



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