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34 OWLS’ POWERFUL ‘ MEDICINE.’ 
Coleridge, in ‘ Christabel :’ 
’Tis the middle of the night by the castle clock, 
And the owls have awakened the crowing cock. 
Again, Longfellow, in ‘ Hyperion,’ speaks of 
the owl ‘as a monk that chants midnight’ mass in 
the great temple of Nature.’ 
With every Indian tribe I have ever met with, 
~ either east or west of the Rocky Mountains, the 
owls, whether large or small, are always held 
sacred—their feathers being worn as charms by 
the medicine-men or conjurors of the tribes. It 
is perhaps fortunate for the owls they are so 
dreaded. There are many Indian traditions I 
could relate, where terrible calamities have in- 
variably followed the warnings of the Pigmy 
Owl, but space forbids. 
Why such an exquisite type of Creative Wis- 
dom—beautiful in plumage, retiring in habit, 
harmless, and gentle—should inspire terror and 
aversion, are mysteries I must leave to wiser 
heads than mine to solve. 
Hardly has the snow left the hillsides and sunny 
slopes, and whilst deep patches still linger in the 
valleys and shaded spots; when early spring- 
flowers peep out, here and there, from some 
sheltered spot, and the bursting buds but faintly 
reveal the leafy treasures hidden within their 
