effectually from the dovecot. Since that took place, it has produced a
great abundance every year, though the barn owls frequent it, and are
encouraged all around it. The barn owl merely resorts to it for repose and
concealment. If it were really an enemy to the dovecot, we should see the
pigeons in commotion as soon as it begins its evening flight; but the
pigeons heed it not: whereas if the sparrow-hawk or windhover should make
their appearance, the whole community would be up at once, proof
sufficient that the barn owl is not looked upon as a bad, or even a
suspicious, character by the inhabitants of the dovecot.

Till lately, a great and well-known distinction has always been made
betwixt the screeching and the hooting of owls. The tawny owl is the only
owl which hoots; and when I am in the woods after poachers, about an hour
before daybreak, I hear with extreme delight its loud, clear, and sonorous
notes, resounding far and near through hill and dale. Very different from
these notes is the screech of the barn owl. But Sir William Jardine
informs us that this owl hoots; and that he has shot it in the act of
hooting. This is stiff authority; and I believe it because it comes from
the pen of Sir William Jardine. Still, however, methinks that it ought to
be taken in a somewhat diluted state; we know full well that most
extraordinary examples of splendid talent do, from time to time, make
their appearance on the world's wide stage. Thus, Franklin brought down
fire from the skies:--"Eripuit fulmen coelo, sceptrumque tyrannis."[1]
Paganini has led all London captive, by a single piece of twisted
catgut:--"Tu potes reges comitesque stultos ducere."[2] Leibnetz tells us
of a dog in Germany that could pronounce distinctly thirty words,
Goldsmith informs us that he once heard a raven whistle the tune of the
"Shamrock," with great distinctness, truth, and humour. With these
splendid examples before our eyes, may we not be inclined to suppose that
the barn owl which Sir William shot in the absolute act of hooting may