The Great Northern Shrike is larger and darker than its brother, the loggerhead. It is also a much better singer, its notes being varied and almost entirely musical, though occasionally it perpetrates a sort of a harsh half croak that ruins the performance. In general appearance at some little distance the shrike is not unlike a mocking bird. The description here given for the adult answers for both male and female: Upper parts gray; wings and tail black; primaries white at the base, secondaries tipped with white or grayish; outer, sometimes all the tail feathers, tipped with white, the outer feathers mostly white; forehead whitish; lores grayish black; ear coverts black; under parts white, generally finely barred with black; bill hooked and hawk-like. Immature bird similar, but entire plumage more or less heavily barred or washed with grayish brown. One has to have something of the savage in him to enjoy thoroughly the study of the shrike. As a matter of fact, the close daily observance of the bird involves some little sacrifice for the person whose nature is tempered with mercy. The shrike is essentially cruel. It is a butcher pure and simple and a butcher that knows no merciful methods in plying its trade. More than this, the shrike is the most arrant hypocrite in the whole bird calendar. Its appearance as it sits apparently sunning itself, but in reality keeping sharp lookout for prey, is the perfect counterfeit of innocence. The Great Northern Shrike is no mean vocalist. Its notes are alluringly gentle, and, to paraphrase a somewhat famous quotation, “It sings and sings and is a villain still.” [Illustration: GREAT NORTHERN SHRIKE. (Lanius borealis). About ¾ Life size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.] There is one compensation beyond the general interest of the thing for the student who has to endure the sight of the sufferings of the shrike’s victims in order to get an adequate idea of its conduct of life. The redeeming thing is found in the fact that in the winter time the great majority of the shrike’s victims are the pestilential English sparrows, whom every bird lover would be willing to see sacrificed to make a shrike’s supper, though he might regret the attending pain pangs. My own observations of the shrike have been limited to the city of Chicago and to the fields immediately beyond its walls. For those unfamiliar with the subject it may be best to say that in the winter season the shrike is abundant in the parks of the great smoky city by the lake, and not infrequently it invades the pulsing business heart of the town. No one ever saw the placidity of the shrike disturbed in the least. It will perch on the top of a small tree and never move so much as a feather, barring its tail, which is in well nigh constant motion, when the clanging electric cars rush by or when the passing wagons shake its perch to the foundation.