Referring to the young cuckoo's manner of ejecting the eggs of its foster-parents, and the reason for this apparently cruel action, the editor refers our readers to Mr. W. H. Hudson's interesting chapter in _Idle Days in Hampshire_.
[24] Mr. Wells Bladen, of Stone, wrote an interesting brochure on this point.--J. A. O.
Short-eared Owl [M]. Long-eared Owl [M] young.
Beak yellowish white; upper parts light tawny yellow minutely variegated with brown, grey, and white; face and lower plumage white, the feathers of the margin tipped with brown. Length fourteen inches; breadth nearly three feet. Eggs white.
Returning from our Summer-evening's walk at the pleasant time when twilight is deepening into night, when the Thrush has piped its last roundelay, and the Nightingale is gathering strength for a flesh flood of melody, a sudden exclamation from our companion 'What was that?' compels us to look in the direction pointed at just in time to catch a glimpse of a phantom-like body disappearing behind the hedgerow. But that the air is still, we might have imagined it to be a sheet of silver paper wafted along by the wind, so lightly and noiselessly did it pass on. We know, however, that a pair of Barn Owls have appropriated these hunting-grounds, and that this is their time of sallying forth; we are aware, too, how stealthily they fly along the lanes, dipping behind the trees, searching round the hay-stacks, skimming over the stubble, and all with an absence of sound that scarcely belongs to moving life. Yet, though by no means slow of flight, the Barn Owl can scarcely be said to _cleave_ the air; rather, it _fans_ its way onwards with its down-fringed wings, and the air, thus softly treated, quietly yields to the gentle force, and retires without murmur to allow it a passage. Not without meaning is this silence preserved. The nimble little animals that constitute the chase, are quick-sighted and sharp of hearing, but the pursuer gives no notice of his approach, and they know not their doom till they feel the inevitable talons in their sides. The victim secured, silence is no longer necessary. The successful hunter lifts up his voice in a sound of triumph, repairs to the nearest tree to regale himself on his prize, and, for a few minutes--that is, until the chase is resumed--utters his loud weird shriek again and again. In the morning, the Owl will retire to his private cell and will spend the day perched on end, dozing and digesting as long as the sunlight is too powerful for his large and sensitive eyes. Peep in on him in his privacy, and he will stretch out or move from side to side his grotesque head, ruffling his feathers, and hissing as though your performance were worthy of all condemnation. Yet he is a very handsome and most amusing bird, more worthy of being domesticated as a pet than many others held in high repute. Taken young from the nest, he is soon on familiar terms with his owner, recognizes him by a flapping of wings and a hiss whenever he approaches, clearing his premises of mice, and showing no signs of pining at the restriction placed on his liberty. Give him a bird, and he will soon show that, though contented with mice, he quite appreciates more refined fare. Grasping the body with his talons, he deliberately plucks off all the large feathers with his beak, tears off the head, and swallows it at one gulp, and then proceeds to devour the rest piece-meal. In a wild state his food consists mainly of mice, which he swallows whole, beetles, and sometimes fish, which he catches by pouncing on them in the water.