OWLS. 



Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, 

 Drops his blue fringed lids, and holds them close, 

 And hooting at the glorious sun in heaven, 

 Cries out, Where is it ?" 



But enough of quotations. That the owl is a 

 mischievous bird to the game preserver I can 

 prove indisputably. Some short time back I 

 was witness to a battle between an owl and a 

 weasel, in which a young rabbit formed the 

 bone of contention. It happened in this way. 

 I was out one day in my duck-boat on a Somer- 

 setshire moor (famous for duck and snipe), 

 accompanied by a friend's keeper. Landing on 

 a bit of heath where there were a few firs, 

 I was astonished at hearing a noise in one of 

 the trees, and seeing some brownish feathers 

 flying about, which the keeper at once pro- 

 nounced as owl's feathers. Presently an owl 

 tumbled from a tree to the .ground uttering 

 piercing shrieks, but holding a bundle of fur in 

 his claw, which he would not quit his hold of. 

 A weasel nimbly came down the tree after him, 

 and a tremendous fight ensued, the owl lying 

 on his back and fighting with his one free claw 

 in the most determined manner, whilst with the 



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