Chapter XLIV. 



OWLS. 



Imagine an uneducated countryman full to the top-knot 

 with superstition of every kind, credulous to the last degree, 

 and capable of an imaginative power given only to such as 

 have all other mental powers dwarfed and undeveloped; then 

 on a fairly dark night let him be confronted in a wild lonely 

 part of the country, (for choice one under dark trees where 

 some tragedy has been enacted) with a shadowy figure now 

 large, now small, in the midst of which glow two balls of 

 living fire, and from which issue hissings, or screeches, 

 hoots, or maniac laughter as the case may be. There is 

 nothing to be seen distinctly, only a swelling, rustling some- 

 thing, with the glaring eyes and the unearthly noises. What 

 happens, if this is a first experience? We know well enough. 

 The countryman turns tail and flies as he never flew before, 

 until the friendly shelter of a cottage door has safely closed 

 behind him. Yet there was nothing more terrible in the 

 dreadful apparition than an owl standing on the defensive, 

 her young probably close at hand. There is the psychological 

 fact, however, and we must make the best of it. It remains 

 a legacy from the past, and it is to be feared one to be passed 

 on to many coming generations, a legacy from parents, 

 nurses, priests, and the superstitious generally who have 

 filled, and will continue to fill, youthful minds with foolish 

 fancies and old world beliefs. The country people amongst 

 whom I was born and brought up were full of folk lore 

 concerning owls and other hobgoblins of the night. Fortun- 

 ately for me curiosity was stronger than dread. The desire 

 to know overcame the fear of the unknown. I can remember 

 a time when owls were a source of imaginative terror, but 

 before nine summers had gone by, this was all gone for the 

 simple reason that to imagination pure and simple there had 

 succeeded knowledge. The owl had become a well known 

 friend, and was no longer a bogy, spook, or other uncanny 

 imp to make one's blood run cold, or one's hair stand on end. 

 At the ripe age of ten I was an utter skeptic with regard 

 to all such things, and, could lie abed and hear the 

 "Crake-crake" of the landrail, or the call of the owls from 

 over the stables, with pleasure in place of dread. "Baint 

 you afeard?" was a by no means infrequent question from 



