THE OWL. 



93 



often aroused by the guttural notes of this noc- 

 tural wanderer. As the sun declines below the 

 liorizon, from his place in the hollow of some 

 tree where he has been sleeping away the day, 

 the Owl begins to open wide his great eyes, and 

 to bestir himself preparatory to the evening's 

 campaign. 



After a few quick snaps of his mandibles, to 

 prove to himself that they are in good working 

 order, and a few lazy shakes of his plumage, the 

 bird, apparently still only half awake, comes forth 

 to the entrance of his home. Many are the queer 

 contortions he makes as he stretclies his neck 

 about and peers around on every side, as though, 

 like some near-siglited person, he stood in need 

 of his eye-glasses, while occasionally he places 

 his bill in the centre of his back, at the appar- 

 ent imminent risk of dislocating his neck, and 

 takes a good look into the burrow he has just 

 quitted. 



As the night comes on, and the darkness_ 

 deepens, he becomes more lively, and, as if dis- 

 liking the silence of the grand old woods, shrieks 

 forth an unearthly cry, or a few deep notes, as if 

 undergoing strangulation, and then stares around 

 him, evidently highly satisfied with what he con- 

 siders a very musical and meritorious perform- 

 ance. 



And now the moon has risen, tipping the 

 waving leaves and penciling the rugged trunks of 

 the forest trees with many a silver line, while the 

 stars crowd in myriads the tropical sky, and 

 twinkle like diamonds in its clear vault. All na- 

 ture is hushed to repose, and no sound disturbs 

 the silence that reigns around, save the quiet rust- 

 ling of the lofty branches as they move gently to 

 the breeze. 



This is the moment which our friend considers 



propitious to sally forth, and, after a few feints at 

 starting, and a few elevations of his pinions he 

 quetly glides away. Noiselessly he sails among 

 the trees, mindful of every object beneath him, 

 his wonderfully constructed eyes, that can not 

 bear tlie light of day, permitting him to see, as 

 through a telescope, into the darkness of the for- 

 est. He swiftly threads the leafy lanes, avoiding, 

 as if by magic, the innumerable twigs and 

 branches that intercept his flight, and is watch- 

 ful at the same time for any thing that may serve 

 to break his long fast since the previous night. 



Some Owls, contrary to the generally received 

 idea, and also contrary to the usual habits of these 

 birds, are accustomed to seek their prey, and be 

 much abroad, when the sun is high in the 

 heavens ; so that we have two classes of these 

 animals — day and night Owls. 



No members of the feathered tribes have been 

 so closely connected with superstitious ideas and 

 fears as the Owls, and none have ever been sub- 

 jects of dislike with so little cause. In the 

 olden time the call of these birds at night was 

 considered a portent of evil, particularly if uttered 

 near, or worse still, on any habitation. (Thus 

 Casca, speaking of the omens that preceded 

 Caesar's death, says : — 



" Yesterday the bird of night did sit 

 Even at noonday upon the market-place. 

 Hooting and shrieking." 



Among the ancient Egyptians, it was custom- 

 ary for the Monarch to send an image of the 

 Owl to any person whose death had been decided 

 upon, and the unfortunate individual was ex- 

 pected at once to become his own executioner. 

 Any delay or objection from the doomed man was 

 considered a great disgrace, not only upon him- 



