“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:—
‘Making night hideous.’
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.