The blast grew cold, the dark owl scream'd
Her lover's funeral song."

Amongst the numberless verses which might be quoted against the family of
the owl, I think I only know of one little ode which expresses any pity
for it. Our nursery maid used to sing it to the tune of the Storm, "Cease
rude Boreas, blust'ring railer." I remember the first two stanzas of it:--

"Once I was a monarch's daughter,
And sat on a lady's knee;
But am now a nightly rover,
Banish'd to the ivy tree--
Crying, hoo hoo, hoo hoo, hoo hoo,
Hoo hoo hoo, my feet are cold!
Pity me, for here you see me,
Persecuted, poor, and old."

I beg the reader's pardon for this exordium. I have introduced it, in
order to show how little chance there has been, from days long passed and
gone to the present time, of studying the haunts and economy of the owl,
because its unmerited bad name has created it a host of foes, and doomed
it to destruction from all quarters. Some few, certainly, from time to
time, have been kept in cages and in aviaries. But nature rarely thrives
in captivity, and very seldom appears in her true character when she is
encumbered with chains, or is to be looked at by the passing crowd through
bars of iron. However, the scene is now going to change; and I trust that
the reader will contemplate the owl with more friendly feelings, and quite
under different circumstances. Here, no rude schoolboy ever approaches its
retreat; and those who once dreaded its diabolical doings are now fully
satisfied that it no longer meddles with their destinies, or has any thing