Birds. 9319 
usual signal near the outhouse in which he is confined I hear him 
jumping impatiently about the cage, and even when I conceal the food 
from sight, he flaps his wings and comes as far as the netting will allow 
him, evidently showing that the object of my visit is perfectly under- 
stood. It is only of late that he has condescended to feed in my 
presence, and I have endeavoured to avail myself of the privilege to 
the utmost. The first thing that I observed was the demolition of the 
theory that because the feathers extend to the tip of the bill this spe- 
cies never tears its prey. No matter what may be the fashion among 
others of his kind, this one while he is feeding throws the feathers 
back upon either side, thus laying the bill completely bare, conse- 
quently when he has finished tearing up a bird or a rabbit the feathers 
are as free from soil as when he commenced. In some former notes 
upon the snowy owl (Zool. 8635) I asserted that the bird almost 
invariably swallows its food whole. Now although this remark has 
been amply confirmed, not only by my own observations, but by those 
of some of our best naturalists, it is quite certain that the individual of 
which I am writing offers a marked exception to the rule. Possibly 
when in a wild state, he too used to swallow his food hurriedly, and 
without tearing it, but that now, fearing no disturbance, he proceeds 
more leisurely, and devours it piecemeal. His habit is first to tear off 
the head, next to pluck out most of the quill-feathers, and then to tear 
off and swallow large pieces of flesh,—and bone also, if the bird be 
smaller than a crow. He will proceed in the same manner even with 
a twite or a sparrow. The food is always held down with the foot. 
A young well-fledged herring gull supplies him with a single meal, 
and he always picks the larger bones very neatly. In the daytime he 
remains inactive, and seems to sleep, although the slightest sound is 
sufficient to put him upon the alert. Towards sunset he becomes 
brisk and lively, and shakes off all drowsiness. I used to give him a 
large stone to sit upon, but now he prefers a thick round branch, which 
he seldom quits: Iam quite surprised to find that in perching upon it 
he places only two toes of each foot in front. He knows me well from 
other people, and seems pleased to see me, and although for the first 
few weeks all attempts at familiarity were furiously resisted, now, when 
I hold my hand above him, he merely snaps and hisses a little, but the 
‘moment I begin to stroke him upon the head he closes his eyes and 
remains perfectly quiet. A few days ago I threw the food to the back 
of the cage instead of to the usual place in front. This seemed to 
puzzle him a good deal; he repeatedly looked at it over his shoulder 
and then at me; at last he opened his bill to the full extent, and gave 
