THE MOPING OWL 
MUSIC, vocal or otherwise, is always 
a matter of taste, and individual 
appreciation of birdsong varies like the 
rest. One man finds the cuckoo's cry 
intolerably wearisome. Another sees no 
romance in the gurgling of doves, while 
comparatively few care for the piercing 
scream of the starling or the rasping note 
of the corncrake. Yet few birds perform to a 
more hostile audience than the owl. I say 
advisedly " the owl," since the vast majority 
of people make no distinction whatever 
between our three resident kinds of owl, not 
to mention at least half a dozen more visitors. 
Some excuse for such carelessness might 
perhaps be found in the similar flight and 
habits of different owls, but it might have 
been thought that greater measure of in- 
dividual recognition on their own merits 
would have been conceded to birds that 
range in size from the dimensions of a sparrow 
to those of a duck. But no ; an owl is just 
an owl. Why the soft and haunting cry of 
113 I 
