36 THE BIRDS OF SHERWOOD FOREST. 
Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate: 
They are each unto each a pride— 
Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate 
Hath rent them from all beside! 
So when the night falls, and the dogs do howl, 
Sing ho, for the reign of the horned owl! 
We know not alway who are kings by day, 
But the king of the night is the bold brown owl. 
So sings Barry Cornwall, — his spirited lines are very 
characteristic. 
If the constant destruction of the hawk tribe is a 
matter of regret to the true naturalist, it is doubly to be 
lamented that the owls are visited with such indiscri- 
minating and ignorant hostility. I will venture to 
affirm that the good they effect is tenfold, ay, fifty-fold, 
greater than the injury inflicted by the occasional 
poaching of a young rabbit or partridge, and earnestly 
would I raise my voice in their defence, and urge on their 
destroyers that, even from the lowest and most unworthy 
motive—that of self-interest—their preservation is de- 
sirable. 
Bishop Stanley says with great truth: “ Generally 
speaking, a more useful race of birds does not exist, 
since, with the exception of one or two of the larger and 
rarer species, their food consists entirely of vermin and 
insects very prejudicial to our crops, and which, but for 
these nocturnal hunters, might do serious mischief. A 
striking instance of their utility occurred some years ago 
in the neighbourhood of Bridgewater, in Somersetshire, 
where, during the summer, such incredible numbers of 
mice overran the country as to destroy a large portion of 
vegetation, and their ravages might have extended to an 
alarming degree had it not been for a sudden assemblage 
of owls, which resorted from all parts to prey upon . 
