BIRDS OF NIGHT. 31 



their surface, singly or in clumps, the remains of fine 

 old oak and beech trees, made grey and hollow, torn 

 and twisted by the ravages of time. These wrecks 

 of the monarchs of a forest of former ages, serve as 

 homes and resting-places for that feathered Friar 

 Tuck of the woods, the bold brown owl and his rela- 

 tive the long-eared owl. Both of these frequent the 

 same haunts ; where you see one you may expect to 

 find the other. 



There he sits, low down, close to the trunk of that 

 old beech. He has just come out from his bedroom, 

 and is not yet quite wide awake. Look at him well. 

 He is a bird of sturdy make ; his head, which is 

 more rounded than those of the other kinds of owls, 

 being large and well set on his shoulders. 



His brown, grey colour, flecked here and there 

 with white, harmonises well with the trunks and 

 branches of the gaunt, weather-beaten trees ; one of 

 his eyes is wide open, the other completely closed. 

 He glances up and down. The next moment he 

 stretches one leg out as far as he can, and the wing 

 over it to the fullest extent, and then he repeats 

 these movements on the other side. So far good, 

 but his toilet is not yet complete. Next, raising 



