A SURREY RIVER. 139 



Owls are in reality gay-hearted creatures, as full of 

 fun and frolic as monkeys, and quite as inquisitive. 

 Better behaved, however, they are, as becomes birds 

 of their deportment. 



The bright harvest moon floods the sides of Box- 

 hill — commonly called the Whites — ^with a soft radi- 

 ance ; for she has been up for some hours and has 

 come round the hill ; her light falls full on the 

 chalk sides, and the great trees near the river. A 

 strip of meadow runs from the belt of trees to the 

 water ; shadowy forms flit hither and thither o\'er 

 the grass, — rabbits on the feed. From the bank 

 where we are standing, a dead beech leans over : in 

 its shadow we wait, close to the trunk, well hidden 

 from view. We are in search of a natural history 

 specimen. No sound is to be heard but the ripple 

 of the water over the broad shallow which reflects 

 the light of the moon. The dead limbs of the tree 

 project over the water. From the trees comes a 

 sound like the whine of young pups, answered by 

 two sharp barking keuvits, and one prolonged hooe, 

 hooe — hooe-e-hooe — a sound familiar to our ears. 

 From two young brown owls the whining cries pro- 

 ceed; the other cry is from one or both of their 



