Bethel, Maine.
1903.
June 8
  Cloudy with strong S.W. wind and occasional brief
showers of fine, mist-like rain, the first for many weeks here.
  I went to the intervale this morning to look for
the shrike's nest which, by an odd chance, proved to be in
the very first tree I visited, a small elm standing alone
by the side of the lane that leads to the factory from
the main road, scarce 200 yards from the railroad station
and not over 50 yards from the mill. The place where
I saw the Shrikes on the 5th is some 200 yards distant
but the brush-heap to which the female took the Swallow on
that occasion is within 30 yards of the nest. Neither bird
was about it when I discovered it this morning so I
kept on to the other locality beyond. Scarcely had I
reached it when the male Shrike appeared, skimming low over
the wide field on the northern side of the road bearing some
rather large, dangling object in his bill. He took it into
a small, stunted elm by the roadside and affixed it to
a short branch, spending less than a minute in the operation.
After he had flown away I went to the tree and found
a Pickerel Frog sitting crosswise on the branch his hind legs
well doubled at the knees, his head resting on his folded
front paws, his eyes wide open. So very lifelike was
his attitude & expression that I could not believe him
dead until I touched him. He was so perfectly balanced 
that I thought at first that the Shrike had merely
placed him carefully on the branch but on closer
examination I found that he was finely impaled
on a short pointed twig which had penetrated half an 
inch or more into the fleshy part of the thigh. He was
a fair sized specimen but very thin and slender.
Migrant Shrike