rather think the tool-house, from being closely shut up, with only two small holes for air, was too hot for birds of such warm plumage—hence their thirst. These owls were not of the same brood; one (the male) was a bright tawny, the other sober brown. After remaining eight months at large, these most interesting pets took their departure about the time of incubation. Their hooting was occasionally heard some distance off, but they never returned to their former abode.

I have now supplied their place by another pair of white or barn owls. They are, however, kept close prisoners by a wire door, which admits plenty of air into the tool-house. The habits of these owls are less nocturnal than those of the ivy ones. They frequently feed in the day-time, but I have never seen them drink, although supplied with water. They do hoot, but very rarely. I heard one six times in succession, and then it ceased. Their music is a little different from the brown owl's. It is only one prolonged cadence, lower and not so mournful as the first hoot of the tawny fellow. They never utter the second juggling whoop of that owl, at least that I have heard. In fact, the habits of the white owl are to be so constantly on wing, beating hedgerows and fields for mice, that he seldom allows himself time for any nocturnal melody, except what he can utter during his silky flight. This is a most harsh scream, and has rightly dubbed him the screech owl. My tame ones very often give a sort of complaining squeak like a very young pig. This is repeated sometimes for hours. It may be that they are dissatisfied at not being

allowed the free use of their wings. In the day-time they sometimes snore as loud as a plethoric gentleman of the olden time, Some naturalists say that this snoring is the complaint of the young in the nest for food. How comes it, then, that my two old ones, which have as much food as they can consume, are guilty of these nursery manners?

I have before noticed that the white owl comes out earlier than the brown, and may frequently be seen hunting for prey whenever the sun's glare is a little mellowed by the first shade of evening. Their eyes, not being so large as the ivy owl's, may collect fewer rays in the darkness, but this is made up by a clearer vision in light. They are evidently more expert mousers than the brown, which may in part account for the latter's destructiveness among young game. I recollect nearly all the young pigeons in my father's dove-cot being harried by a pair of brown owls. It was some months before the robbers were discovered.

The wings of the ivy owl are not so long in proportion to its body and tail as those of the white; neither is its flight so buoyant, although equally soft and spectre-like. It is thus less formed for beating a large extent of country for mice, and must often content itself with promiscuous feeding. Mice, on the contrary, seem to be almost the exclusive food of the barn owl; and he is a lucky farmer whose barn is tenanted by them. Some aver that the young will die unless they have a constant supply of mice. I have two living proofs against this assertion, which were brought up principally upon raw meat.

A tame white owl supersedes the necessity of a cat. My little boy had one a few years ago kept in the kitchen. Its dexterity in catching mice was the wonder of all who saw it. Once, when a mouse had been troublesome in the night, he darkened the window next morning, and brought up his owl. In a very short time there was a crash, a faint squeak, and the mouse was never heard again. It used sometimes to startle strangers, by coming down upon their shoulders with the noiseless spirit-like flight which enabled it to surprise the mice;-when they looked round they encountered a sage face peering inquisitively into theirs. The top of the wings of white owls are beautifully pencilled, and make the best artificial white moths.

The habits of the long-eared owl are pretty much like those of the white, only it is oftener met with in wild unfrequented places, and is also more apt to perch and rest for awhile, when seeking prey. I have shot them in mistake for woodcocks, flying between me and the sky after nightfall. They skim copses and hedgerows exactly like the white owl, but do not come out so early. I have sometimes put them up in open daylight, out of the heather, where there were neither trees nor rocks. But they are more often flushed from some thick fir-tree, which seems a favourite retreat, especially if surrounded by heath or brushwood. A very fine specimen of this bird was brought me one summer. It had been entangled in a net placed over some seeds, to protect them from the small birds. The mice were also feeding on these seeds, and they of course attracted the owl. It was a beautiful little

creature, with its bright eyes of yellowish red, and small

face animated by fear.

The cry

of this owl is neither so

loud nor harsh as that of the white.

Last summer, I noticed a pair of young long-eared owls at a bird-fancier's in Edinburgh.

Thinking that they well treated by the

would be hospitably received and possessors of the tool-house, I bought and ceremoniously introduced them to each other. Next morning I perceived the long-ears cowering at the farthest end of the house, and directing timid glances to their host and hostess. Still fancying they would become better friends, I paid no attention, although I saw some brown feathers ominously scattered about. Two nights after, the white ones pecked them both to death! Such barbarity would have been quite in keeping with the unkindly disposition of the hawk; but one was quite unprepared for it in the sedate and sagacious owl.

From the small hawk head of the short-eared owl, it most likely hunts on the wing, though I have never seen it search for prey. I have several times started it in the daytime, during autumn and winter, from tangled heathery dells where there are fir or yew trees. Pennant says they arrive in this country in October. My brother-in-law shot one on the Arroquhar Moors shortly after the twelfth of August. It rose out of the heather, and, I believe, was pointed by one of his dogs. I had this bird stuffed.

I

once pursued another from tree to tree, on Inch Connachan, about the beginning of September.

It appeared more timid than any of the other owls, and would not let me come within a hundred yards. Mice seemed to have been

its attraction to the island, for I remember that, after it had been planted to some extent, so much injury was done by the mice that a boat-load of cats were imported on purpose to destroy them! There are a few fine old Scotch firs on the island, and out of one of these flew the owl, always winging his way straight to another, quite heedless of the glaring sun.

I never heard of the short-eared owl's nest being found in the West Highlands, so conclude it must be a bird of passage there.

The long-eared owl sometimes rears its young in the Castle Rock of Edinburgh; one was shot last autumn close to Portobello. The barn owl also hatches every year in Craigmillar Castle, about a mile from the city. The male takes up his quarters during the day in a niche of the old dining-hall. When the curious stranger enters, he turns a sleepy face, and then quietly takes himself off by the hole where a window was. My tame ones always show the same dislike of intrusion during their nap. If I move my head from side to side at their wire door, they at once imitate me most absurdly, and continue to make a pendulum of their heads so long as I set them the example.

On taking possession of my present residence, Sonachan House, Loch-Awe-side, I was much annoyed to find that a colony of ivy owls (whose long abode in the roof might surely have entitled them to nine points of the law) had been shot as vermin by a surly gamekeeper, as a blind for laziness. Had they fallen into my hands, they should certainly have been sacred birds.