STRANGE FRIENDSHIP.

OMEWHAT widely distributed throughout temperate

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North America, but nowhere very abundant, is the little Acadian Owl, or Saw-whet Owl, as he is popularly designated. In Eastern Pennsylvania he seems notably scarce, but this may be attributed to his pre-eminently nocturnal and secluded habits. Being a denizen of dense pine forests, and only venturing abroad in quest of food at the close of the day, his presence and numbers remain to many a mystery. Hollow trees, and the dark caverns of rocks, are his natural retreats, and as these are to be met with largely in densely-timbered regions and sequestered localities, he is seldom, if ever, seen in close proximity to human habitations. He seemingly shuns rather than courts the society of man. When routed from his burrow in the broad glare of day he becomes very much bewildered, and is scarcely able to escape the approach of danger.

The common appellation of Saw-whet Owl, which is applied to the species, owes its origin to the close resemblance which the notes of the bird bear to the noise produced by the filing of a saw. These notes are so deceptive, that persons unacquainted with their source have fancied themselves in the vicinity of a saw-mill, or in near presence to a woodman occupied in whetting a saw. Audubon, hearing these notes in a thicket for the first time, was thus deceived. The same distinguished writer gives, on the authority of Mr. McCullock, an interesting description not only of the notes of this Owl, but also of his remarkable powers of ventriloquism. On a certain occasion his informant was aroused

by what appeared to be the feeble tones of a distant bell. But in nearing the spot whence the sounds emanated, they apparently shifted from point to point, being heard at one time close by, and at the next moment in the distance, now on the left, then on the right, and as often in the rear as in the front. Finally the author of these sounds was discovered at the entrance of his burrow in a birch-tree. Stationing himself at the base of the tree in full view of the bird who was calling to his partner, Mr. McCullock had a splendid opportunity of observing an exhibition of his singular and exceptional ventriloquial powers.

Smooth, gliding and noiseless is the flight of this Owl, and but slightly elevated and protracted. When seeking for food he may be seen sailing over low meadows in the neighborhood of his accustomed haunts, or, perched upon a stump or fence-rail adjoining thereto, quietly gazing in every direction for whatever of life may chance to manifest itself, which he seizes with remarkable adroitness, even sometimes venturing to assail prey larger than himself. The smaller birds, awakened from their perch by his cries, fall ready victims to his rapacity.

Hollow trees, or the deserted nests of other species, are selected for breeding-quarters. The eggs, varying from four to six in number, are pure white, sub-spherical, of crystalline clearness, and measure one and one-eighth by one and seveneighths inches. The food of this interesting little Owl, which is not so large as a robin, though appearing bulkier, consists of small quadrupeds and birds, but chiefly of various species of insects.

When taken quite young, and held in confinement, this Owl becomes quite tame, permitting strangers as well as his keeper to handle him with the utmost freedom, without so much as resenting such familiarity. But a greater attachment is manifested towards the master whom he is able to recognize by the sound of his voice, and in whose presence he is peculiarly fascinating and agreeable.

Like Scops asio-the Red Owl-he leads a solitary existence, save on the approach of warm weather, when the sexes are discovered together, or are heard calling one to the other. Mating commences early in April, and about the middle of the month the birds have located their nests in the hollow of a tree, about twenty feet from the ground, where the female lays her complement of eggs. The entrance to the hole is very small, scarcely two inches in diameter. Upon the female devolves the whole work of incubation, although the male takes a hand in raising the young. The latter leave the nest about the first week of May, and when disturbed make a noise that sounds like a dog sniffling the air, which, when heard, especially at night in heavy timber, is quite certain to startle one and make him fancy a bear or some such animal up a tree near by.

Some years ago there lived in the hollow of an oak tree, not far from Germantown, a common Chickaree SquirrelSciurus Hudsonius-with this little Owl as his sole companion. This association reminded me of the connection. of the burrowing owl of the West with the singular settlements of the prairie dog, the life-relations of the two creatures being really intimate in very many localities, although the owls are simply attracted to the villages of the prairie-dogs as the most suitable places for shelter and nidification, where they find eligible ready-made burrows and are saved the trouble of digging for themselves. Community of interest makes them gregarious to an extent unusual among rapacious birds, while the exigencies of life on the plains cast their lot with the rodents. That the owls live at ease in the settlements, and on familiar terms with their four-footed neighbors, is an undoubted fact, but that they have any intimate domestic relations is open to question. That the quadruped and the birds are often seen to scuttle at each other's heels into the same hole when alarmed is no proof that they live together, for in such a case the two merely seek the nearest shelter, independently of each other. In the

larger settlements there are thousands upon thousands of burrows, many of them occupied by the dogs, but more, perhaps, vacant. These latter are the homes of the owls. It is possible that the respective retreats of a dog and an owl may have one common vestibule, but this does not imply that they nest together. There are fewest owls in the towns most densely populated by the dogs and the greatest number in the deserted villages, and this is strong evidence in point. But the owls are by no means confined to the dog-towns, nor even to the similar communities of other gregarious spermophiles. They sometimes occupy the underground dens

of wolves, foxes and badgers. When the subject has been carefully investigated, the owls never appear to enter the same hole or burrow with a squirrel, and a squirrel is never seen to enter a burrow that was occupied by owls, however strongly he may be tempted by fear to enter the first hole he should come to. The spermophile never likes to enter any burrow but his own, and has been known to run past any number of inviting entrances in order that he may hide himself in his own domicile.

In the case of the Chickaree Squirrel and the Saw-whet Owl, they occupied the same hole together in perfect harmony and mutual good-will. It was not an accidental occurrence, the Squirrel merely seeking the cavity to escape a danger that impended, for the bird and the Squirrel had been repeatedly observed to enter the hole together, and in the most amicable manner possible, as though they had always shared the apartment. Ordinarily the Chickaree is a very pugnacious creature, attacking with the greatest fierceness the gray and black squirrel whenever they had the temerity to cross his path. He seems to be ever bent upon blood. Though strictly by nature a rodent, subsisting principally upon nuts and the bark of trees, which his powerful incisors enable him to manipulate effectively, yet he has not always remained true to his instincts, for he has been frequently detected in eating the eggs of birds, and also in the seizure of the feathered denizens of our lawns and woods, which he will capture with all the skill of the blood-thirsty weasel. His method of operation is peculiar. He will lie in wait, concealed from view by the dense foliage of the trees which he is wont to affect when in quest of game, and when some unsuspecting bird hovers near pounces upon it with unerring precision, and effecting its capture proceeds to suck, sitting up in true squirrel fashion, the life-sustaining fluid through a wound inflicted in the side of the neck. Having satiated his thirst, which may have been the prime object of the capture, the dead body of the bird is dropped, and the little