AN OCTOBER DIARY. 363 



ated animals of widely different character are not so 

 very uncommon, after all. From the same great hol- 

 low in the old oak, or from another section of it, if it is 

 divided, this same night, and within half an hour, came 

 a beautiful barn-owl, and directly afterwards another. 



Unlike the opossum, they did not wait for prelimi- 

 nary observations, but sailed away in the moonlight, 

 without a moment's pause, I tarried awhile, hoping 

 they would return, but they did not, and being too cool 

 to sit up until late for their reappearance, I turned my 

 face homeward, pausing at times to listen to the notes 

 of birds, if such they were — half -uttered cries, as 

 though the birds were dreaming. Thinking of them as 

 I continued my walk, I wondered if owls were ever at- 

 tracted by such sounds, and so were led to the roosting- 

 places of sparrows and tits. Let us hope not. Owls are 

 seemingly only mouse-hunters, and as such the world 

 should welcome and protect them. 



Even yet, migrator}' birds are dropping in every hour 

 of the day and night. As I passed by the maples in 

 the lane there was a faint chirping that came from a 

 score of throats, and seemed afar off and directly over- 

 head, I stood but for a moment, when a flock of small 

 birds settled in the trees, and I recognized them as pine- 

 finches. Usually, I doubt not, birds on their migratory 

 journey, when flying at night, do not stop until dawn ; 

 but, of course, it happens otherwise at times, as was the 

 case to-night. All was quiet within a minute, and happy 

 birds they, to be able to fall asleep the moment they 

 closed their eyes. 



Probably only the hot - headed tribe of wrens are 



