as a rule, easily distinguishable from all others. I say as a rule, and it proves its title to that character by two notable exceptions. The one is, that an owl often gets shot for a woodcock. When one looks at the birds, it is difficult to imagine any two more unlike, except in colour, than the flat-faced, hook-beaked, feathery-legged, fluffy, skin-and-bone owl on the one hand, and on the other the long-billed, slim-legged, plump and compact woodcock. But, ludicrous as the contrast is, the first flight of an owl through a wood is not unlike that of the woodcock; and many a young sportsman, hastening to pick up the first woodcock of the day, has been confronted by the stupid, dozing, reproachful stare of a wounded owl, huddled up at the foot of a tree. I should think that the feelings of a young sportsman who has succeeded in bringing down an owl, must be more easily imagined than described. The inextinguishable laughter which greets him, the kind inquiries, "whether he likes woodcocks with their trail;" ornithological queries as to how long it is since woodcocks have had crooked beaks and talons; and the gruff remark of some tattered old "beater ”—“ Woodcock? Humph! looks wonderful loike a nowl;" and putting it Hamletfashion to his nose, "smells loike one tew." All these things form a series of subjects for consideration not easily to be forgotten by any who, having succeeded in shooting an owl instead of a woodcock, has not succeeded in concealing his misfortune.

The other exception to which I referred is that the wild pigeon, and more especially the turtle-dove, frequently gets mistaken for a hawk. Well may it be said that "extremes meet." The hawk and the turtle-dove, the very opposite poles morally of the feathered creation, do actually get mistaken for each other; and that not by the careless eye of some unobservant passer-by, but by the vigilant eyes of little birds, who take the greatest delight in fluttering above, and teasing the hawk as he flies, and not seldom fall foul, by mistake, of the innocent wood-pigeon or turtle-dove, as it is

passing along on its lawful business. But these are exceptions; the rule is, birds are easily distinguishable.

Look at the hawk, hovering or sweeping round in airy circles, dropping like a stone to the ground, or gliding off, apparently without an effort, to the other side of the field, or see him fly up close by you, starting like a guilty thing, from a spot where a fluff of feathers shows the murderous work on which he has been engaged. You will never mistake him for a dove, however often a dove may be mistaken for him; though thus the experience of many a gamblingtable is reversed, where it is but seldom that a "pigeon" is unrecognized and mistaken for a hawk.

Look at the owl, again, engaged in his proper business, in business hours, hunting for "rats, and mice, and such small deer," in the dusk of the evening, and not suddenly routed out of his first sleep in broad daylight, by an army of shouting beaters and shooting gentlemen. See an owl in pursuit of his prey, and you will never take him for a woodcock. There he goes silently, with his fleecy wings, beating every inch of a hedge, over which a woodcock would have flitted without noticing it. But that would not suit Mr. Owl, who wants his supper, or some supper for the little Miss and Master Owls at home; and so he narrowly scans every square inch of ground where a mouse might cower. His soft, slowly-moving wings give no notice of his approach, his great eyes receive every ray of the fading light; in fact they are, as the wolf said to Little Red Riding-hood, made large "to see you the better, my dear," the "dear" being equivalent to the "small deer" before mentioned; and when he catches sight of one, down he goes, with a curious side-long motion, quite as effective as, though very different from, the pounce of the hawk. You won't mistake him for a woodcock when thus engaged, though it is undeniable that there are circumstances in which an owl can be easily mistaken for a woodcock. Mr. Gilbert White, in his Natural History of Selborne,' has

some interesting notices of owls. We have had, he writes (1773), ever since I can remember, a pair of white owls that constantly breed under the eaves of this church. As I have paid good attention to the manner of life of these birds during their season of breeding, which lasts the summer through, the following remarks may not perhaps be unacceptable:—About an hour before sunset (for then the mice begin to run) they sally forth in quest of prey, and hunt all round the hedges of meadows and small inclosures for them, which seem to be their only food. In this irregular country we can stand on an eminence and see them beat the fields over like a setting-dog, and often drop down in the grass or corn. I have minuted these birds with my watch for an hour together, and have found that they return to their nest, the one or the other of them, about once in five minutes; reflecting at the same time on the adroitness that every animal is possessed of as far as regards the well-being of itself and offspring. But a piece of address, which they show when they return loaded, should not, I think, be passed over in silence. As they take their prey with their claws, so they carry it in their claws to their nest; but, as the feet are necessary in their ascent under the tiles, they constantly perch first on the roof of the chancel, and shift the mouse from their claws to their bill, that their feet may be at liberty to take hold of the plate on the wall as they are rising under the eaves.

White owls seem not (but in this I am not positive) to hoot at all; all that clamorous hooting appears to me to come from the wood kinds. The white owl does indeed snore and hiss in a tremendous manner; and these menaces well answer the intention of intimidating; for I have known a whole village up in arms on such an occasion, imagining the churchyard to be full of goblins and spectres. White owls also often scream horribly as they fly along; from this screaming probably arose the common people's imaginary species of screech-owl, which they superstitiously think

attends the windows of dying persons. The plumage of the remiges of the wings of every species of owl that I have yet examined is remarkably soft and pliant. Perhaps it may be necessary that the wings of these birds should not make much resistance or rushing, that they may be enabled to steal through the air unheard upon a nimble and watchful quarry.

There is, perhaps, not a more beautiful instance of the evidence of design, than that exhibited in the whole structure of an owl, and, as a part of it, the wing, which is constructed for a light, buoyant, and noiseless flight. The feathers are altogether soft and downy. They have the webs with the plumules disunited at the tips, and either remarkably pliable, or separated like the teeth of a saw, allowing a free passage to the air; or they possess a pliability to yield to its pressure, and thus give a light or sailing motion and a noiseless flight.

While I am talking of owls, it may not be improper to mention what I was told by a gentleman of the county of Wilts. As they were grubbing a vast hollow pollard-ash that had been the mansion of owls for centuries, he discovered at the bottom a mass of matter that at first he could not account for. After some examination he found that it was a congeries of the bones of mice (and perhaps of birds and bats) that had been heaping together for ages, being cast up in pellets out of the crops of many generations of inhabitants. For owls cast up the bones, fur, and feathers, of what they devour, after the manner of hawks.

When brown owls hoot, their throats swell as big as a hen's egg. I have known an owl of this species live a full year without any water. Perhaps the case may be the same with all birds of prey. When owls fly they stretch out their legs behind them as a balance to their large heavy heads; for, as most nocturnal birds have large eyes and ears, they must have large heads to contain them. Large eyes, I presume, are necessary to collect every ray of light, and

large concave ears to command the smallest degree of sound or noise.

Farmers often foolishly destroy owls. "If," says Waterton, "this useful bird caught its food by day instead of hunting for it by night, mankind would have ocular demonstration of its utility in thinning the country of mice, and it would be protected and encouraged everywhere."

ness.

THE QUAIL.

INDEPENDENTLY of the claims which attach to the quail, on account of its habits, manners, and extensive distribution throughout the greater portion of Africa, Asia, and Europe, it is invested with no little interest from another cause-namely, its connection with the history of the Israelites during their migratory movements in the wilderOn two occasions were supplies of quails sent opportunely by way of affording food to the multitude. Not much more than a month had passed since the departure from Egypt, when the host entered the wilderness, or rocky desert, interspersed with glens, between Elim and Sinai, that is, from below what is now called Wady Gharundel to the neighbourhood of Wady Feiran and Mount Serbal, supposed by some to have been the true Sinai of the Hebrews. The occurrence is related in Exodus xvi., and it is recorded (verse 13) that "at even the quails came up and covered the camp." But this supply of flesh was only temporary, for the manna (from “manhu," what is it?) was appointed as the staple food. It was ground in mills, made into dough, and baked in the form of cakes of delicious flavour. (Numbers xi. 8.)

The second occasion on which a supply of quails was sent, was during the second month of the second year after the departure from Egypt, when the host, having left the glens and dales of Sinai,