AN OWL AT ALTON 179 



a room at the hotel, I hurried out to look at the fine old 

 church, which Gilbert White admired in his day ; but 

 it was growing dark, so that there was nothing for me 

 but to stand in the wind and rain in the wet church- 

 yard, and get a general idea of the outline of the 

 building, with its handsome, shingled spire standing 

 tall against the wild, gloomy sky. By-and-by a vague 

 figure appeared out of the clouds, travelling against the 

 wind towards the spire, and looking more like a ragged 

 piece of newspaper whirled about the heavens than any 

 living thing. It was a white owl, and after watching 

 him for some time I came to the conclusion that he was 

 trying to get to the vane on the spire. A very idle 

 ambition it seemed, for although he succeeded again 

 and again in getting to within a few yards of the point 

 aimed at, he was on each occasion struck by a fresh 

 violent gust and driven back to a great distance, often 

 quite out of sight in the gloom. But presently he 

 would reappear, still striving to reach the vane. A 

 crazy bird ! but I could not help admiring his pluck, 

 and greatly wondered what his secret motive in aiming 

 at that windy perch could be. And at last, after so 

 many defeats, he succeeded in grasping the metal 

 cross-bar with his crooked talons. The wind, with all 

 its fury, could not tear him from it, and after a little 

 flapping he was able to pull himself up; then, bend- 

 ing down, he deliberately wiped his beak on the bar 

 and flew away! This, then, had been his powerful, 

 mysterious motive just to wipe his beak, which he 



