2918 Tue ZooLoGisT—FEBRUARY, 1872. 
am afraid in a few years nothing.will be seen save a few gulls and 
a stray ring plover or two. The only bird I killed to-day, besides 
the redstart, was a teal, and this is becoming a rarity. Among a 
large flock of starlings, which rose out of some rushes, I observed a 
white or cream-coloured bird. 
December 7th. A fine mild day. Shouldered my gun and went 
for a walk. Observed a whitethorn bush thick with fresh green 
leaves, blossoms, and bright red berries! I never remember 
having seen such a thing before, and could scarcely credit my 
senses until I had picked a spray of the blossom and satisfied 
myself there was no mistake. During my walk to-day I had to 
pass an old stunted and weather-beaten oak which grows alone in 
the midst of a thick thorn hedge. It is an old friend of mine, and 
one I shall long remember, for from its branches, when a schoolboy, 
I shot my first fieldfare. To-day, as I approached, it a great 
commotion was apparent among the bushes beneath it, and among 
its lower branches a great mob of small birds, chiefly chaffinches 
and tomtits, had assembled, and were uttering vociferously their 
cries of alarm, which made me fancy a hawk had captured a bird 
and was enjoying his meal in the tree. However, I was greatly 
mistaken, for I had no sooner come to this conclusion when, 
instead of a hawk appearing, out flew a great gray shrike! IT was 
taken completely by surprise, so much so that I never thought of 
firing at the bird, which flew over the hedge and disappeared. 
The tree from which this bird flew out almost overhangs a stream, 
and between it and the hedge is a railing, which from its sloping 
position is difficult to climb over: well, just as I was scrambling 
over it I heard a flutter above me, and out came another shrike, 
bearing a small bird in its claws, with which it made off. I was 
in hope that, having this burden, it would soon alight, but in this 
I was disappointed, for although I searched for some time I saw 
no more either of this or the other one. I was greatly vexed at 
not, having fired at the first one. I returned home about three 
in the afternoon, and, hawking down a ditch in a field close 
to the town, was a queer-looking owl: it seemed, at a distance, 
to be a dark specimen of our common friend the barn owl, 
and as the stupid bird came within range, and still puzzled 
me, I fired and brought it down, and on running up discovered 
I had killed a remarkably light-coloured variety of the short 
eared owl. 
