12 WITH THE WOODLANDERS. 



The beautiful white owl will, at times, come and 

 perch on a bough right over some path in the 

 woods, and will sit there quite regardless to all 

 appearance of those who may pass beneath him. 

 The satin-like white of the bird's breast fixes the 

 eye at once, and this, with the full dark eyes set 

 in his heart-shaped face, gives him a most weird 

 look in the gloaming. No one attacks him then : 

 they look on him with fear, for he is no longer 

 a bird but a feathered form of evil, come to warn 

 them of coming misfortune ; whilst a white mouse 

 caught or seen in a dwelling-house always denotes 

 death. 



Simple facts of everyday life only do I treat of here. 

 I do not profess to give a sketch of any imaginary 

 woodland Arcadia. No such poetical place has 

 ever existed, nor ever will, whilst common human- 

 ity with all its hopes and fears, and its tumultuous 

 passions, has play. But one thing I am sure of: 

 all the fads brought out by a certain class for the 

 so-called improvement of woodland people have 

 miserably failed, and ever will fail. " 'Tis our 

 wotes, not us, as they wants," they say, and this 

 sums up the whole matter. I have nothing to do 



