CHAPTER IX. 

 THE BARN-OWL. 



How often, when at eventide, on the banks of some 

 stream, when the red sun has sunk beneath the horizon 

 and the elms in the distance look almost black in the 

 gloaming, we have stopped to watch the flight of the 

 BARN-OWL (Aluco flammeus) as he searches with silent 

 wing the water-meadows ! How suddenly he will stop, 

 hover for a moment, and swoop down into the long grass, 

 and as suddenly rise again ! He has missed his prey. 

 Again he quarters his ground like a pointer ; once more 

 he is down with success this time, for he rises with 

 something dark in his claws probably a young water- 

 vole and away he flies to yonder old ivy-mantled tower 

 or ruined mill. We have scarcely made a few casts 

 when he is again at work ; he is on the other side now, 

 gliding down the hedgerow. But if we watch him much 

 longer we shall lose the chance at that big trout just 

 flopped up near the opposite bank. We can see the rings 

 he has made. Away goes the big alder into the midst of 

 the round O's. Ah ! we have him whirr goes the reel. 

 Look out for that low tree across the stream with its bed 

 of tangled weeds. He means business ; but, thanks to 

 strong tackle and a judicious strain, we have turned him. 

 The net is under him, and a fine two-and-half pounder lies 

 on the dewy grass. But the owl ? Oh ! there he is. 

 He must have gone and come again during the tussle. He 

 has now got a much larger bunch in his claws perhaps 

 the old water-vole, or a rat from the hedgerow. What a 

 friend of the farmers is this bonny owl ; and yet how 

 often, from ignorance and superstition, do we see this 

 poor bird nailed to the barn-door or hanging to the game- 



