182 DAYS OUT OF DOORS. 



his face. His blue and white plumage, tastefully trimmed 

 with black, made him conspicuous, but he lessened the ill 

 effects of this fact by the manner he assumed. No bird, 

 however timid, would step aside for such as he. Indeed, 

 they perched upon the same branch of the tree he was on, 

 almost upon the same twig, and — where was he ? Like a 

 flash the shrike had disappeared, and now, fifty paces dis- 

 tant, he is perched upon another tree, plucking feathers 

 from a kinglet's head and regaling himself with his vic- 

 tim's brains. 



This incident recalls one of these birds I called my 

 " garden " shrike, for in that inclosure he remained 

 nearly three months. It is now ten years ago, but there 

 is no change except the absence of this cunning bird. I 

 first saw him on the morning of November 30. It was 

 a cool, pleasant autumn day, with a veil of thin clouds 

 overhead that allowed only semi-sunshine to sift through, 

 affording a light that casts no shadow and is the most 

 grateful to the eyes. Northern sparrows were abundant, 

 and the winter sojourners generally had arrived, among 

 them many kinglets. My garden shrike may have followed 

 them ; at all events, a moment after I saw him for the 

 first time, he had a kinglet in his beak. 



My indignation at the killing of this bird caused me 

 to drive the murderer away, and for a week I saw no 

 more of him. The tall weeds in the garden did not, I 

 think, conceal him, and a host of small birds were ap- 

 parently free from all molestation. But shrikes are never 

 abundant, and I soon regretted my attack. Had I, indeed, 

 permanently frightened him ?. Should he come back, he 

 might have a bird a day, without my interference, pro- 

 vided he went to the highway for English sparrows. I 

 certainly could spare no kinglets from my door-yard, even 

 that I might study a shrike. It mattered nothing what I 

 wished, thought, or promised concerning him. That 



