Sad emblem of what once had been away. J. M. "At some distance from the River Coln (which gives the name to Colchester) is Lair-Marney, so called from the Lord Marney to whom it belonged, and who, with some others of the name lie interred in very fair tombs in the Church there. "St. Osyth was the chief seat of the Lords Darcy, stiled Lords of Chich, and advanced to the dignity of Barons by Edward the Sixth."See Camden's Britannia. NOTICES OF BIRDS, ETC. I am highly delighted to see the jay or the thrush hopping about my walks. SPECTATOR. Some will evermore peep through their eyes, and laugh like parrots at a bag-piper. SHAKSPEARE. If fieldfares come early out of the northern countries, they show us cold winters. BACON. COUNTRY people often note the phenomena of nature with great accuracy, and are also, in fact, something of naturalists without being aware of it themselves. I mean by this remark that they are often acute observers of the habits of animals, and sometimes infer from them a change in the weather, or some other circumstances which would probably escape the observation of other persons. I therefore always pay great attention to the remarks of steady old labourers whom I may meet with in my walks or rides, and I lose no opportunity of entering into conversation with them, as I can generally pick up some useful observations. Those who have resided in the country will have occasionally seen an assembly of jays, and heard their incessant screaming, accompanied by loud and angry vociferation. A countryman will tell you that they are mobbing an owl, and such is generally the case. A friend of mine while riding in the country, heard this screaming from a large assemblage of jays, and at the same time perceived a man, who, having picked up a stone, crept stealthily along the road for some distance. My informant thinking that this action of his had some reference to the noise of the jays, although he scarce thought it probable they would remain to be pelted, rode up, and asked what he was about to do. "Oh," he said, "these jays are mobbing an owl." He was asked if he had seen him-" No,” he replied, "but that is the noise they always make when so doing;" and then pointing in the direction from whence the cries proceeded, he added—“ I lay a bet the owl is in that old crabtree. I was picking up the stone to knock him down." The curiosity of my informant was excited, and opening a gate, he rode close to the tree from whence the jays had already flown, and there sat the owl, which allowed the tree to be shaken violently before it took flight. "Be sure," said the countryman, "when you hear jays making that noise, they are mobbing an owl.” The strong propensity of migratory birds to leave and return at the appointed season, plainly demonstrates that this unvarying principle within them is an instinct, by which they are providentially imbued by a beneficent Creator at the very time most adapted for their flight, and which is apparently irresistible. Indeed, they seem to be seized with the desire on a sudden, and neither sooner or later than is expedient, almost at the same time yearly, so that up to the hour of their flight, and as long as it is needful to stay for their preservation, they appear to have no thought of departure. The often undesirable faculty of anticipating the future, with all its cares and prospective dangers, is entirely and kindly withheld from the animal creation. Last spring a vast number of fieldfares and other birds congregated on a piece of pasture ground where turnips had been thrown for cattle, some of which were in a half decayed state, and had probably attracted insects on which the birds fed. Amongst these were blackbirds, thrushes, starlings, and other birds. The fieldfares, especially, were in a high state of excitement, waging fierce war against the blackbirds and thrushes, displaying themselves at the same time to great advantage by movements and positions very graceful, yet sometimes grotesque. The genial warmth of the sun appeared to have the most beneficial effect upon them, and they presented a strong contrast to the wretched and starved state several of them were in during the preceding cold weather. It then became a matter of enquiry why these birds of the north should be less enabled to bear severity of climate than those delicate natives of our own fields and shrubberies, such as the blackbird, the thrush, the robin, and the wren. On looking at these fieldfares sporting in the sun, it was difficult to imagine that they could feel any inclination to leave what they so evidently and intensely enjoyed, for harsher and colder climates. The birds, too, appeared so well contented with the weather, and their position, that it was impossible not to suppose that at least a pair or two would remain to build amongst the numerous hedge-rows and thickets around. Not one, however, remained, nor will they return until the inclemency of the coming season, and the strict laws of nature force them back to our shores. The occurrence above referred to might have been a jubilee occasioned by their approaching departure, more than any mark of contentment at a prospect of remaining; just as I have seen swallows and martins twitter with great glee as the period of their migration |