TALKS WITH YOUNG OBSERVERS 305 



Another neighbor, who was standing by, said the 

 bird had appeared at his house the day before. A 

 cage with two canaries was hanging against the win- 

 dow, when suddenly a large bird swooped down as 

 if to dash himself against it; but arresting himself 

 when near the glass, he hovered a moment, eying 

 the birds, and then flew to a near tree. 



The poor canaries were so frightened that they fell 

 from their perches and lay panting upon the floor of 

 their cage. 



No one had ever seen the bird before; what was 

 it 1 It was the shrike, who thought he was sure of 

 a dinner when he saw those canaries. 



If you see, in late autumn or winter, a slim, ashen- 

 gray bird, in size a little less than the robin, having 

 white markings, flying heavily from point to point, 

 and always alighting on the topmost branch of a tree, 

 you may know it is the shrike. 



He is very nearly the size and color of the mock- 

 ingbird, but with flight and manners entirely differ- 

 ent. There is some music in his soul, though his 

 murderous beak nearly spoils it in giving it forth. 



One winter morning, just at sunrise, as I was 

 walking along the streets of a city, I heard the 

 shrike's harsh warble. Looking about me, I soon 

 saw the bird perched upon the topmost twig of a 

 near tree, saluting the sunrise. It was what the 

 robin might have done, but the strain had none of 

 the robin's melody. 



Some have compared the shrike's song to the 

 creaking of a rusty gate-hinge, but it is not quite so 



