UNCLE THOMAS TELLS ABOUT OWLS, AND OF THE CURIOUS PECULIARITIES IN THEIR STRUCTURE WHICH ENABLE THEM TO SEEK FOR AND SECURE THEIR PREY DURING THE NIGHT.

“The Owls,” said Uncle Thomas, on their next meeting, “are perhaps one of the most interesting families of Birds of Prey. They are, with one or two exceptions, night birds; that is, they seek their prey during the night, or in the dim twilight when scarcely any other animal can see.”

“But how, then, can they perceive their prey?” asked Jane.

“By a peculiar formation,” said Uncle Thomas, “the eye of the Owl has been fitted for use just when from the habits of the bird it is most wanted. The pupil of its eye, which, when there is little light, expands to a great extent, and enables it to see distinctly the smallest objects, is of such extreme sensibility that if light is admitted it contracts, and prevents the bird from seeing at all. You will understand this better if you examine carefully the eye of a Cat, which to a certain extent has the same property as that of the Owl. When it is subjected to a moderate light, you will perceive that the pupil is of a certain size, but if a much stronger light is admitted it contracts till you scarcely perceive it, and in this state it is nearly as useless as if it was covered by the eyelid.”

“But Cats can see to hunt in the sunshine,” said Mary; “I saw Puss watching some birds in the garden to-day.”

“Though I used the Cat’s eye as an illustration,” said Uncle Thomas, “I did not mean you to understand that those of the Owl and it are exactly the same. From possessing less sensibility, perhaps, that of the Cat can be used in broad day-light, when the Owl is nearly blind. Accordingly, when one happens to be dislodged by any accident during sunshine, it is immediately attacked with impunity by whole flocks of small birds, who never cease their persecutions till it again finds refuge in some dark and snug retreat.

“Besides this singular power of vision, which it has in common with all animals which seek their prey in the twilight,” continued Uncle Thomas, “the Owl has other peculiarities in its structure, which are in a great measure confined to itself. Its skull is larger in proportion to the size of the bird than that of most other animals, and the bone is thin and fine, so that no space is lost, nor is it troubled with more weight than is absolutely necessary. A considerable part of the interior of the skull is occupied by two large cavities, in which the nerve by which the impression of sound is conveyed to the brain is expanded to an unusual size, and thus the sense of hearing is much more acute than in most other animals.”

“What can it want with this?” asked Harry. “At night, when every thing is so still there can be no difficulty in hearing, I should think.”

“One minute, if you please, Harry,” said Uncle Thomas; “there is another peculiarity in the structure of the Owl, of which I wish to tell you; and when I have pointed out their nice adaptation to each other, and the beautiful manner in which they all subserve the habits of the animal, I think you will admit that they are all made in wisdom. The other peculiarity to which I refer is in the plumage of the bird. The wings of some birds, as they fly along, make a whistling noise, which arises from the air acting on their hard and rigid feathers. Not so those of the Owl. The feathers of its wings are fringed with a sort of silky down, so remarkably soft and elastic that they seem scarcely to stir the air. It can thus noiselessly pounce down upon an unwary Mouse as it stirs among the leaves in the waning twilight, before it has the slightest suspicion of the presence of its enemy, who has, perhaps, been guided to the spot by the tiny stirring of a decayed leaf. You will thus perceive how the various peculiarities of which I have told you act upon each other. The Owl hears a squeak or a rustle among the leaves, and flies noiselessly to the spot; were it not, however, for the acuteness of its sight, its prey must still escape; but thus, provided, it soon spies it out and secures it.

“That the ear is greatly used by the Owl in directing it to its prey,” said Uncle Thomas, “is evident, from the fact that they are frequently attracted to the spot where the rustic sportsman has stationed himself for the purpose of shooting them, by imitating the squeaking of a Mouse.

“With us,” continued Uncle Thomas, “the Owl generally inhabits hollow trees, old ruins, church steeples, or the dark recesses of some uninhabited building, where it can roost undisturbed during the day. Wilson, the delightful writer from whose work I have often read to you, thus describes the haunts of the Great Tufted Owl:—‘His favourite residence is in the dark solitudes of deep swamps covered with a growth of gigantic timber; and here, as soon as the evening draws on, and mankind retire to rest; he sends forth such sounds as seem scarcely to belong to this world, startling the solitary pilgrim as he slumbers by the forest fire:—

Along the mountainous shores of the Ohio, and among the deep forests of Indiana, alone, and reposing in the woods, this ghostly watchman has frequently warned me of the approach of the morning, and amused me with its singular exclamations;—sometimes sweeping down and around my fire, uttering a loud and sudden waugh O! waugh O! sufficient to have alarmed a whole garrison. He has other nocturnal solos no less melodious, one of which very much resembles the half-suppressed screams of a person suffocating or throttled, and which cannot fail of being extremely entertaining to a lonely or benighted traveller, in the midst of an Indian wilderness.’”

“Entertaining, does he say?” asked Jane. “I should rather think terrifying, Uncle Thomas.”

“He speaks ironically,” said Uncle Thomas, “and thinks exactly as you do. The hooting of the Owl, however, we must not regard as a mere incident in nature, without any use but that of frightening benighted travellers. It is one of those wise provisions to assist it in procuring its prey. As it sits in waiting on some solitary eminence, or pursues its stealthy flight over the places where it knows they frequent, it utters its well known, and discordant note. Terrified at the unexpected presence of their enemy, its prey shrink and endeavour to escape, and it is ten chances to one if the Owl is close at hand that he discovers them either by the eye or the ear.

“Some of the larger Owls, such as the Great Tufted one, of whose haunts I have just read you Wilson’s description, feed on small birds, Squirrels, Rabbits, and young Partridges, and as they are very voracious eaters, it is astonishing how many they will destroy. On one occasion a sportsman fired at a very large one, and broke its wing. He took it home to a farm house, where, after remaining for several days, it disappeared, no one could tell how. Almost every day after its mysterious departure Hens and Chickens also vanished, one by one, in the same unacountable manner, till in eight or ten days very few were left remaining. The Fox and the Weasel were alternately the reputed authors of the mischief, until one morning the old lady of the house, herself, rising before day to bake, in passing towards the oven surprised her late prisoner, the Owl, regaling himself on the body of a newly-killed Hen! The thief instantly made for his hole under the house, from which the enraged matron soon dislodged him with the brush-handle, and dispatched him without mercy. In this snug retreat were found the greater part of the feathers and many very large fragments of her whole family of Chickens.

“It is only the large Owls, however,” continued Uncle Thomas, “which prey upon poultry; the lesser ones confine their depredations to the smaller animals, such as Mice, Rats, &c., and are thus very useful to mankind in destroying such animals as would otherwise do much mischief to the crops. Some of the species also feed on fish, a fact as to which naturalists were long incredulous, on account of the want of adaptation in the structure of the Owl, as they thought, to capture such a description of prey. Recent observation has, however, confirmed the fact beyond a doubt. Not only have they been seen to carry fish to feed their young, but the bones have frequently been observed close under the nest. Many years ago the Duchess of Portland had a quantity of gold and silver fish in a pond in the flower garden at Bulstrode. As the fish were frequently missed, and suspecting that they were stolen, a watch was kept in order to detect the thief. He was soon discovered in the shape of several common brown Owls, which alighted on the side of the pond, and, waiting the approach of the fish, captured and devoured them. A naturalist, speaking of this singular habit of the Owl, relates that, on one occasion, a person standing on a bridge in the twilight of a July evening, watching an Owl carrying Mice to its nest, was surprised to see it suddenly drop perpendicularly into the water. Thinking that it had been seized with a fit, or had met with some unacountable accident, he ran to the end of the bridge to procure a boat to go to its rescue, but, before he could do this, he saw the Owl rise out of the water, bearing a fish in its claws, and convey it to its nest.”

“The Owl must be very clear sighted, indeed, to see a fish in the water at night,” said Harry.

“The fact is so well established,” said Uncle Thomas, “that it admits of no doubt. The explanation which some naturalists give of the manner in which the fish are decoyed towards it is, I admit, a little more questionable. They suppose that the luminous appearance of its large bright eyes attract the fish, and that it stares at them till they come within reach of its beak or talons.”

“I have seen the Cat’s eyes glaring in a dark room,” said Jane; “I suppose it is something of the same kind, Uncle Thomas.”

“Quite so,” said Uncle Thomas; “and though, from its very great singularity, the supposition at first startles us, one of the American Bitterns possesses a power something akin to it. The bird lives almost entirely on fish, and, when in search of its prey, it is said to decoy them within reach by a light from its breast of considerable brilliancy, which is described, by those who have seen it, as equal to the light of a common torch.”

“But are fish attracted by light?” asked Mary.

“Oh, yes,” said Uncle Thomas; “sportsmen in every country use torches to take them, spearing them as they come to the surface of the water, to gaze on the singular and unusual appearance.

“In America,” continued Uncle Thomas, “some species of Owls are very numerous. A rambler among the forests of the ‘Far West’ says, that it is almost impossible to travel eight or ten miles in any of the retired woods there without seeing several of them, even in broad day; and, at the approach of night, their cries are heard proceeding from every part of the forest around the plantations. Should the weather be lowering, and indicate the approach of rain, their cries are so multiplied during the day, and especially in the evening, and they respond to each other in tones so strange, that one might imagine some extraordinary fÊte about to take place among them. On approaching one of them, its gesticulations are of a very extraordinary nature. The position of the bird, which is generally erect, is immediately changed. It lowers its head and inclines its body, to watch the motions of the person beneath; throws backward the lateral feathers of the head, which thus has the appearance of being surrounded by a broad ruff; looks towards him as if half blind, and moves its head to and fro in so extraordinary a manner as almost to induce a person to fancy that part dislocated from the body. It follows all the motions of the intruder with its eyes; and should it suspect any treacherous intentions, flies off to a short distance, alighting with its back to the person, and immediately turning about, with a single jump, to recommence its scrutiny.”

“Another writer,” continued Uncle Thomas, “relates a very amusing story of the terror of a party of hunters, which shows how strongly superstitious feelings sometimes affect the mind:—‘The Virginian Horned Owl,’ says Richardson, ‘is found in almost every quarter of the United States, and occurs in all parts of the fur countries, where the timber is of a large size. Its loud and full nocturnal cry, issuing from the gloomy recesses of the forest, bears some resemblance to the human voice, uttered in a hollow sepulchral tone, and has been frequently productive of alarm to the traveller, of which an instance occurred within my own knowledge. A party of Scottish Highlanders, in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, happened in a winter journey to encamp after night-fall in a dense clump of trees, whose dark tops and lofty stems, the growth of centuries, gave a solemnity to the scene that strongly tended to excite the superstitious feelings of the Highlanders. The effect was heightened by the discovery of a tomb which, with a natural taste often exhibited by the Indians, had been placed at this secluded spot. Our travellers, having finished their supper, were trimming their fire preparatory to retiring to rest, when the slow and dismal notes of the Horned Owl fell on the ear with a startling nearness. None of them being acquainted with the sound, they at once concluded that so unearthly a voice must be the moaning of the spirit of the departed, whose repose they supposed they had disturbed, by inadvertently making a fire of some of the wood of which his tomb had been constructed. They passed a tedious night of fear, and with the first dawn of day hastily quitted the ill-omened spot.’”

“Have not all Owls got horns?” asked Mary. “This one,” pointing to one of the specimens in Uncle Thomas’s collection, “seems to have none.”

“No!” said Uncle Thomas; “it is only particular species which are so ornamented. They are, however, improperly called ‘horns,’ and sometimes ‘ears,’ as the protuberance consists merely of a little bunch of feathers, without any corresponding configuration of the skull; indeed, in some species the tuft is imperceptible when the bird is in a state of repose, but is elevated whenever its attention is excited; so that in a dead bird it requires a very careful examination to perceive them.

“In ancient times,” continued Uncle Thomas, “the Owl was regarded as the symbol of wisdom; and in the present day a superstition of the same kind lingers among the North American Indians. We are told that among the Creeks the younger priests constantly wear a white mantle, and have a skin of the Great White Northern Owl cased and stuffed very ingeniously, so well executed as almost to appear like the living bird, having large sparkling glass beads, or buttons, fixed in the head for eyes. This insignia of wisdom and divination they wear sometimes as a crest on the top of the head, at other times the image sits on the arm, or is borne in the hand. The bearers are also distinguished from other people by their taciturnity, grave and solemn countenance, dignified step, and by their singing to themselves songs or hymns, in a low sweet voice as they stroll about the town.

“Owls,” continued Uncle Thomas, “have been remarked as showing very great affection for their young, frequently visiting them and feeding them long after they have been taken from the nest, and even when placed in a state of confinement. It is thus that we get glimpses of the surpassing wisdom and beauty of the works of the Almighty. The whole of the Owl tribe, as I have already told you, are extremely voracious feeders; and in the earlier stages of their existence, from the time that they leave the nest until their powers are sufficiently matured to enable them to provide entirely for themselves, they must be unable to procure sufficient food to satisfy their almost insatiable appetite. Here, then, is both the necessity and the cause for this extraordinary affection, of which I will by and by give you one or two examples. If the parent Owls were not endowed with this extraordinary affection, the young would starve, and the race soon become extinct. A young Owl having, on one occasion, escaped from the nest before it was fully fledged, was caught and placed in a hen-coop. To the surprise of the captors, in the morning a fine young Partridge was found lying dead before the door of its place of confinement. For fourteen days the same mark of attention was repeated, the provision sometimes consisting of one kind, and sometimes of another. Though he well knew whence the supply proceeded, the gentleman to whom the captured bird belonged kept watch for several nights, accompanied by his servant, to observe when and how the supply was brought, but they watched in vain. So long as they remained at the window nothing was brought, but whenever it was left for a short time unoccupied, the Owls deposited their provision and escaped unobserved. This continued till the usual time when the Owls leave their young to shift for themselves.”

“I suppose if one was to attempt to rob an Owl’s nest of its young, it would fight very fiercely,” said Harry.

“Some of the species are occasionally very bold in defence of their nestlings,” said Uncle Thomas; “and, if their territory is invaded, evince great alarm. A carpenter, some years ago, passing through a field near Gloucester, was suddenly attacked by an Owl that had a nest in a tree near the pathway. It flew at his head, and the man struck at it with his adze that he had in his hand, but missed his blow. The enraged bird repeated the attack, and fastening her talons in his face, lacerated him very severely.

“Before I conclude my account of the Owl,” continued Uncle Thomas, “I must tell you of a very curious experiment made by a gentleman named Waterton, who lives in Yorkshire. Some years ago he resolved to establish a colony of Owls, and accordingly had a dwelling made for them on the ruins of an old gateway. The place was about four feet square, a nice perch was fixed for them to sit upon, and the ivy which grew round the gateway was trained to cover and conceal the whole. In about a month after these preparations were made for their reception, it was duly examined and fixed upon as a desirable place of residence by a pair of Barn Owls. Their example was soon followed, and in time not only filled the ‘ivy mantled tower,’ but extended into the trees in the vicinity. Mr. Waterton had so constructed the tower that he could see into the colony without disturbing the Owls, and as they were never injured, they soon became familiar, showing no symptoms of fear, even when strangers mounted the ladder to look into their retreat.”

“How very curious!” said Mary.

“Singular it certainly is,” said Uncle Thomas, “but it has other and better qualities to recommend it. From diligently observing the habits of the Owls, Mr. Waterton discovered several curious facts connected with their natural history, which, besides their interest merely as pieces of information, are very useful, and show the adaptation of the various parts of the creation to each other. For instance, the Owl is by many persons deemed a noxious creature, and is hunted and killed whenever opportunity offers. On the contrary, it is one of the greatest friends of mankind. Mr. Waterton estimates that when the Owls have their broods to provide for, they bring to the nest from four to five mice every hour, so that in the course of a year the quantity of mice consumed must be immense: how much to the advantage of the farmer’s crop it is impossible to say. Again, whenever an Owl is discovered near a pigeon-house, it is immediately attacked and killed, from the idea that they destroy the young pigeons. Mr. Waterton’s observations show that, instead of doing damage, they are of great use in freeing such places from Rats and other vermin, by which they are generally frequented, and his remarks are confirmed by other observers. A person whose Pigeons were frequently destroyed laid it to the charge of a pair of Owls which visited the dove-cot. He accordingly watched, and at last shot one of the birds as it flew out. On picking it up, however, he was astonished to find that, instead of a young Pigeon, its prey consisted of a huge Rat. Mr. Waterton’s experience amounted to this: as soon as the Rats were excluded from his pigeon-house, the Pigeons rapidly increased in number, notwithstanding that it continued to be frequented by the Owls, and they were encouraged all about the place. On one occasion, when he was seeking to destroy some Rats, he killed a large one as it emerged from its hole. Expecting to get another shot, he remained still, and allowed the Rat to lie where it had fallen. In a short time a Barn Owl pounced upon it and carried it off, though, had it chosen, it might as readily have flown into the Pigeon-house and feasted on the young brood.

“These instances,” said Uncle Thomas, “are sufficient to show how much mischief may be done by ignorance of the habits of an animal, and how useful it is to study the nature of the creatures with which Providence has surrounded us. We may at all times feel assured that they have been so placed for our good, and that this good can only be realized by availing ourselves of, or at least by not counteracting the instincts and habits with which He has endowed them.”

Uncle Thomas then dismissed his little charges for the evening, informing them that to-morrow night he would narrate some Tales about Storks and Cranes, of both of which he had some very interesting information to communicate.