The Great Northern Shrike when it is attempting to capture a mouse, or a small bird that has taken refuge in a bush, hovers over the quarry almost precisely after the manner of the sparrow hawk. There are few more fascinating sights in nature than that of the bird with its body absolutely motionless, but with its wings moving with the rapidity of the blades of an electric fan. Sharply outlined against the sky, it fixes the attention and rouses an interest that leaves little room for sympathy with the intended victim that one knows is cowering below. A mouse in the open has little chance for escape from the clutches of the hovering shrike. Birds, however, which have wisdom enough to stay in the bush and trust to its shelter rather than to launch out into open flight, are more than apt to escape with their lives. In February last I saw two shrike-pursued English sparrows take to the cover of a vine-covered lilac shrub. They sought a place well near the roots. While flying they had shown every symptom of fear and were making a better pace than I had ever seen one of their tribe make before. The shrike brought itself up sharply in midair directly over the lilac, and there it hovered on light wing and looked longingly downward through the interlacing stems at the sparrows. It paid no heed to its human observer, who was standing within a few feet and who, to his amazement, saw an utter absence of any appearance of fear on the part of the sparrows. They apparently knew that; the shrike could not strike them down because of the intervening branches. They must have known also that owing to the comparative clumsiness of their pursuer when making its way on foot through and along twigs and limbs, that they could easily elude him if he made an attempt at capture after that manner. Finally the shrike forsook the tip of the lilac bush and began working its way downward along the outer edge of the shrub. When it had approached to a point as near as the sparrows thought was comfortable, they shifted their position in the bush. The shrike saw that the quest was useless unless he could start them to flight. He tried it, but they were too cunning for him, and he at last gave up the chase, the progress of which actually seemed to humiliate him. He flew afar off, where, perhaps, the prospects of dinner were better. I once saw a goldfinch in winter plumage escape a Great Northern Shrike by taking a flight directly at the zenith. The shrike followed the dainty little tidbit far up, until the larger bird was only a speck and the little one had disappeared entirely. The shrike apparently could neither stand the pace nor the altitude, and the watchers, with whom the goldfinch was the favorite in the race, rejoiced with the winner. Edward Brayton Clark. ORIOLE.