parrow
hawks to nest under our eaves and thus be on equal terms with their
sparrow prey. The starlings are turning out to be worse than the sparrows.
Already they are invading the haunts of our grackles and redwings.

On some cold day, when the sun is shining, visit all the orchards of which
you know, and see if in one or more you cannot find a good-sized, gray,
black, and white bird, which keeps to the topmost branch of a certain
tree. Look at him carefully through your glasses, and if his beak is
hooked, like that of a hawk, you may know that you are watching a northern
shrike, or butcher bird. His manner is that of a hawk, and his appearance
causes instant panic among small birds. If you watch long enough you may
see him pursue and kill a goldfinch, or sparrow, and devour it. These
birds are not even distantly related to the hawks, but have added a hawk's
characteristics and appetite to the insect diet of their nearest
relations. If ever shrikes will learn to confine their attacks to English
sparrows, we should offer them every encouragement.

All winter long the ebony forms of crows vibrate back and forth across the
cold sky. If we watch them when very high up, we sometimes see them sail a
short distance, and without fail, a second later, the clear "_Caw! caw!_"
comes down to us, the sound-waves unable to keep pace with those of light,
as the thunder of the storm lags behind the flash. These sturdy birds seem
able to stand any severity of the weather, but, like Achilles, they have
one vulnerable point, the eyes,--which, during the long winter nights,
must be kept deep buried among the warm feathers.

FISH LIFE

We have all looked down through the clear water of brook or pond and
watched the gracefully poised trout or pickerel; but have we ever tried to
imagine what the life of one of these aquatic beings is really like?
"Water Babies" perhaps gives us the best idea of existence below the
water, but if we spend one day each month for a year in trying to imagine
ourselves in the place of the fish, we will see that a fish-eye view of
life holds much of interest.

What a delightful sensation must it be to all but escape the eternal
downpull of gravity, to float and turn and rise and fall at will, and all
by the least twitch of tail or limb,--for fish have limbs, four of them,
as truly as has a dog or horse, only instead of fingers or toes there are
many delicate rays extending through the fin. These four lim