the mere is left in peace to the stately
swans and the lurking coot and moorhen.

The Norfolk people call these birds " puets:"
a name probably derived from one inflection of
their voice, which is not dissimilar to the cry of
the lapwing. In some parishes at a few miles'
distance they have obtained the name of " Sunday
birds," from a curious combination of cause and
effect. On Sunday, of course, no ploughs are at
work, and in the absence of feeding-ground near
home, the gulls are driven to cater for themselves
at a greater distance.

The winter habitat of the black-headed gull
has not been very clearly or satisfactorily
ascertained. One thing I can bear witness to; that
they start in a direction bearing north-east, and
return from the same quarter. In the early spring
of 1855, I observed, at a point on the Norfolk
coast, a few miles south of Cromer, large flocks
of these birds coming from seaward, and flying
low and wearily over the land. On another occasion,
while cruising on the Broads, which are
situated in the north-east part of the county, I
observed large parties of them (apparently
taking some refreshment on their way out)
wading in the marshes by the water-side.

Enough has, I trust, been suggested in this
imperfect sketch, to introduce these interesting
birds to the better acquaintance of lovers of
nature. The fact of sea-fowl coming regularly,
year by year, to breed in the heart of a highly-
cultivated agricultural county, is in itself worthy
of observation and remark.

A TRIAL OF JEWRY.

DON'T talk to me about November! Don't
point with triumphant finger to your Letts's
Diary, or hunt out that Almanack which the
never-dying Francis Moore, Physician, still
persists in producing in alternate black and red
letter, and which he calls Vox Stellarum! They
may make this present month November, if they
like; it comes after October and precedes
December, I know; but I am not to be put down
by mere book-learning and meteorological
statistics. I go by the weather, and I see no fog,
no Scotch mist, no heavy atmosphere, and
incessant rain, which, as a Briton, I have a right
to expect; produce for me, if you please, that
pea-soup cloud, which, descending on earth,
immediately gives rise to an epidemic of " spleen,"
and causes men to attach themselves to lamp-
posts and hurl themselves from bridges! I
defy you. I decline to accept your—even to
my ignorant mind—unscientific explanation of
there being "a peg out" in the harmony of the
seasons, or that "something has slipped" in
the grand mechanism; but, I am with you in
your avowal that an April morning has accidentally
"turned up" in the middle of the dreary
autumn, and very much regret that " a previous
engagement," to use the language of society's
vortex, prevents my enjoying it as I should wish.

I ought to stop here in my garden for at least
an hour more on this Sunday morning, lolling
about, and patting my dog's big head, and
caressing the cold nose which he thrusts into my
hand as he walks gravely by my side, and gazing
vacantly but with great delight over the broad
green meadows and the purple-tinted cultivated
land; over the fertile pastures and the
big sweeping gardens, so trimly kept; over the
red-roofed houses and the well-thatched ricks,
and the tiny threads of the silver Brent, and the
whole glorious landscape that lies between me
and Harrow Church far away on the horizon.
The church bells are silent yet, and there is not
one sound to break the stillness. Looking over
the hedge (which within the last few days has
become very bare and ragged, and which has
concentrated all its few remaining leaves on
one spot, like an elderly gentleman conscious
of baldness), I see the farm horses keeping
holiday by blundering gravely over their pasture-
field, only diversifying their never-wearying
amusement of cud-chewing by an occasional
grave and decorous roll upon their backs, from
which they arise with a very astonished look
around, and an apparent consciousness of having
been betrayed into a temporary abnegation of
dignity; I see the ducks all gathered together
in a cluster at one corner of the pond in
a farm-yard, and the geese, who immediately
take affront at Nero's appearance, and hiss,
like a theatrical manager's friends who have
come in with orders and don't get front places;
and—woe is me!—crossing the edge of the
farm-yard, by the footpath in the Fair Meadow,
I see the vicar of the parish, who gives me a
cheery " Good morning," and, pointing towards
the church, says he shall see me presently.
Which statement is, though my excellent friend
doesn't know it, the reverse of truth! He will
not see me presently! To-day, the square pew
with the red-covered seats, and the hassocks
which want binding, and always go off like
dusty fireworks whenever they are touched, will
not contain me. To-day, the charity children
who sit behind us, will sniff unscared by my
occasional remonstrative glances; to-day, the
clerk will have it all his own way with the responses,
and the vicar will miss his churchwarden;
for, as I have before remarked, I have a
previous engagement, and as I have not before
remarked, I am going to make a trial of Jewry.

For the first time for many years, but not for
the first time in my life. My first trial of Jewry
was, if I mistake not, in connexion with a pressing
call for money on my part, and the production
of a stamped piece of paper on the part of
Jewry. Ten pounds was the sum required; but
after Jewry—sitting in his own private house in
Burton-crescent—had read the letter of
introduction which I presented to him (and which
had been given me by Uptree, of the Tin-tax
Office), and had made me sign the stamped paper
acknowledging myself his debtor for twelve
pounds, "value received," he proceeded to explain
that he had only a five-pound note in the
house. Aghast at this information, I asked
him what I was to do. He frankly confessed
he did not know; at length, smitten with a