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the nests of both snipe and woodcock. Referring again to the Honourable Grantley Berkeley, he said the simple rustics wondered at him and his ways; his influence over birds and animals appeared to them little short of magic. They said. "outlandish things follered him about; they seed wild creatures come and feed out of his hand." His power with them was truly marvellous. will not say that because a man loves all wild things he comes up to the Exeter Hall standard of a good man; but this I do aver, that a man who loves the beings created to take their place in the same world with himself, cannot be a bad one. A most kind and considerate man Grantley Berkeley was; and as a sportsman and naturalist, second to none; he claimed the respect and admiration of all who knew him. He, too, has drifted away, beyond our ken. Some day we trust a still brighter light will shine on the true relation that the dumb creatures

as

canting ignorance has styled them bear to the so-called lords of creation; brutes we might often more fitly style these latter.

CHAPTER III.

BIRDS OF NIGHT.

"WHAT you can find to look at in that lot of varmints beats me. You may look at 'em for a week if it's any good to you. I wish there wasn't so many of 'em, I do. All that lot's bin killed this year. That one you seem most struck with was knocked over last autumn.”

Half to myself, I mutter, "Poor things! not much harm have you done."

"What! you mean to say a good word for them owls? Surely, man alive! you must be going daft."

"I do; and what's more, if this estate belonged to me, not one of these birds should be spread-eagled out here."

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Well, all I can say, Mr Whoever-you-are, is,

you don't know nothing about it. They're varmints. Owls or hawks, or nothing of that sort never did any good nor never will; but you can look at 'em, and keep on lookin' at 'em. You won't get any good out of that lot.” These were the sentiments on the whole family of raptores-birds of prey-which the keeper shared with nearly all of his calling.

As a field naturalist, I will pass over the eagle and snow owls-they are rare visitors to England, their home being in other lands—and will try to give some description, from personal observation, of the members of the owl tribe more commonly found in this country.

The sun has gone down, leaving an after-glow which throws a flood of soft light over the landscape. The old farmhouse and buildings, surrounded by large elms, are enveloped in a purple haze, which affords much enjoyment to the lover of nature, whose reverie is undisturbed. Silence is only broken by the tinkling of distant sheep-bells and the occasional barking of the shepherds' dogs. With measured flapping flight, out from the farm comes the beautifully buff-marked, white-breasted,

dark-eyed barn owl, with his curious elongated, almost heart-shaped face. He is now overhead, and you can hear his hissing scream as he passes into the meadows, where he works the fields like a pointer. Shortly he is joined by his mate. They have not long to hunt for a meal: for, suddenly dropping down, he has a mouse in his claws and his mate has another. Back they go to their young ones that are not quite able to fly, and are looking out for their parents like so many cats, to which indeed they bear a striking resemblance. Their appetites are good, but they have not long to wait, for mother and father owl are off and hunting again, almost immediately; and nearly through the whole night long they thus continue to fulfil their paternal duties.

Only those acquainted with country life would credit the number of different kinds of mice to be met with in the grass fields. The short-tailed, stout-bodied meadow-mouse, called by the countrypeople the dog-mouse, in size resembling a young rat, the wood-mouse, and the shrew-mouse are all found there. These, together with the barn or house-mouse, are the chief source of food for owls

and their young all the year round. I cannot say that they form their exclusive diet, for, as you can see from the owls' castings, they occasionally eat birds.

If you come upon a barn owl in the daytime, perched on a rafter in some out-building, or sitting on the grate of your bedroom, as you are dressing some morning, which haven he has reached by flying down the wide old-fashioned farmhouse chimney— this is not of so unfrequent occurrence as you might think he will look at you in a wonderfully wise manner, and if you steadily return his gaze, it is very comical to see what strange antics he will play, bobbing up and down and twisting his head from side to side. Should you try to make a nearer acquaintance with him, he will look at you for a moment and then deliberately turn over on his back, with his claws drawn upon his breast, looking the very picture of helpless innocence. Do not pick him up unless your hand is protected by a stout leather glove; for, in spite of his appearance, he is a brave bird and a determined fighter, and like a cat, is no foe to be despised when he is on his back.

If you catch him, and tame him by kindness and