j;8 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



possible to procure birds and mice for him ; then he 

 will content himself with tender lean beef, quite fresh. 

 He is so particular in that matter, though, that he will 

 not eat fresh pork. He seldom drinks water, and 

 never uses it for the purpose of washing, preferring 

 to roll and scratch about in a lump of drift sand like 

 a domestic fowl. In fine feather he now is, and he 

 keeps himself beautifully clean ! His legs are long, 

 and he uses his toes and claws with the dexterity of 

 a monkey ; in fact, when at his little games he is 

 more like a monkey than an owl. His conversation, 

 kept up continually, is a croon and chatter, and 

 when in high glee he will puff the feathers of his 

 throat out and look intently at me with his bright 

 yellow eyes, and treat us with a solo sounding like 

 the gobble of some unfortunate turkey. If I ask him 

 as a particular favour to change that tune, he will 

 give us a succession of shrill barks like a terrier. He 

 roars like a little tiger when his dignity is ruffled, and 

 squeaks like a pig. This does not occur very often, 

 and when it does the fault is my own. It generally 

 happens when he is introduced to strangers, which he 

 hates. As a rule he is most amiable. If I wanted to 

 cure a man of melancholy and never-smiling grief, I 

 would present him with a little owl, the Punchinello 

 of his tribe. 



