MOBBING THE BROWN OWL 



the grown bird. It was droll to find last week even 

 a jay half joining in the hue and cry a pretty thief 

 to catch a thief. 



The Starlings' Eve 



The celebration of the wintry eve by wild birds 

 is often marked by beautiful and mysterious rites. 

 There are the spiral evolutions of the linnets, which 

 will be repeated many times on a cold, clear eve 

 before the birds drop to their bushes on the common 

 and twitter to sleep. There is the drill, dead-perfect, 

 of the black-whirring army of starlings. In some 

 districts there are starlings not subject to this con- 

 scription at the roosting hour. These, I believe, are 

 the older birds, which in seasons past served their 

 turn, and will now stay at home and sleep beneath 

 the eaves where they nested in June the friendly 

 starlings, which, with heads upraised, and throats 

 distended, give us delicious medleys almost every 

 autumn and winter morning. But in some places 

 even these domestic starlings are drawn into the 

 evening concourse, and go off for the night with the 

 seething multitude to the reed beds or plantations. 



By four o'clock the starlings are gathering. A 

 bare ash tree, a field distant, appears black-budded 

 with starlings ; their murmur absolutely even and 

 composed of sounds as little and close together as 

 those which make a hiss is carried half a mile. A 

 little later, regiment after regiment of starlings flies 



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