Grand Duke, Buffon now turns to the Moyen
Due, or Otus, from the Greek ??s, Ear, in
Latin, auritus. By the way in which he
begins one would think that this genus were
Jews: "Its cry is clow, cloud!" and that of
the Chat-Huant (felis gemendo or "groaning
cat," so called, observes Gesner, because the
head, both for shape and bigness, is like a
cat's) he tells us is "hoho, hoho!" He
then goes on to say: "Both these owls
occupy themselves during the day in making
ridiculous buffoon-like gestures in the
presence of men and other birds. Aristotle
attributes this kind of talent only to the
Otus, while Pliny ascribes it to the Scops,
as if it were a different species, calling
his movements whimsical, motus satyricus."
The name which Aristotle gives the Otus
is that of mountebank, dancer, or buffoon,
one who counterfeits what he sees. Buffon
adds, as if he had settled the particular
question by a general accusation,  "I shall
merely observe that all these absurd or
satirical gestures attributed to the owl by the
ancients are common to almost all kinds of
nocturnal birds, and reduce themselves, in
fact, to an astonished countenance, to
frequent turnings of the neck, to motions of the
head up and down and on all sides, to
chattering with the beak, to trepidations in the
legs, and to movements of the feet—one claw
of which is sometimes thrust backwards and
then again brought forward."  While on the
same subject Buffon notices an attempted
identification of the Otus with the Demoiselle or
Numidian Crane (Anthropoides Virgo), observing
with truth, "The one is as like the other as
a heavy turkey resembles an agile sparrow-
hawk." He then proceeds: "It is to Messieurs
the anatomists of the Academy of Sciences, that
we are indebted for this idea in the description
which they have given us of the Numidian
Crane, where they seek to establish the
resemblance, and express themselves in these
terms, 'This bird has been called the Demoiselle
of Numidia, because it comes from that
province in Africa, and has certain ways
which imitate the gestures of a young woman
who affects a graceful carriage and manner
of walking, almost approaching a dance.'" This
description may be true enough, but it has
nothing in common with what I may term
the comic attitudes of the Small Duke, and I
look upon the allusion as only a covert mode
of attacking that hilarious fowl.

For the proof that he is a regular bonvivant,
merry-maker, roisterer—what, in
short, we call a good fellow—and not a mope
or make-bate, let us hear what Audubon,
the distinguished modern ornithologist, says about
him. He is describing the barred-owl (Strix
nebulosa),the chouette of Canada:—"This owl
was a most abundant visitor to my solitary
encampment, often a most amusing one; and,
by less accustomed travellers, might easily have
been converted into an inhabitant of another
world." Robin Goodfellow, in fact, without
his malice. "How often, when snugly settled
under the boughs of my temporary encampment,
and preparing to roast a venison-steak
or the body of a squirrel, on a wooden spit,
have I been saluted with the exulting bursts
of this nightly disturber of the peace. . . . . .
How often have I seen this nocturnal
marauder" (jocosely said, of course, just as
one calls one's best friend an old rascal)
"alight within a few yards of me, exposing
his whole body to the glare of the fire, and
eye me in such a curious manner, that, had it
been reasonable to do so, I would gladly have
invited him in to join me in my repast, that
I might have enjoyed the pleasure of forming
a better acquaintance with him. The liveliness
of his motions, joined to their oddness, have
made me think that his society would be often
at least as agreeable as that of many of the
buffoons we meet with in the world." It is
this individual whom the observant naturalist
calls the Sancho Panza of the woods, and
under that name we all know how much
shrewdness and humour lie hidden. That
owls have far more intellect than goes to the
making of many a professed diner-out, Audubon
abundantly shows. "Such persons as
conclude, when looking upon owls, in the
glare of day, that they are, as they then
appear, extremely dull, are greatly mistaken."
He then, in the fulness of his experience,
continues:—"The barred owl is more abundant
in Louisiana than in any other state. It
is almost impossible to travel eight or ten
miles in any of the retired woods there with-
out seeing several of them, even in broad
day; and at the approach of rain, their cries
are so multiplied during the day" (excellent
barometers, you observe), "and especially in
the evening, and they respond to each other
in tones so strange, that one might imagine
some extraordinary fête about to take place
among them. On approaching one of them,
its gesticulations seem to be of a very extra-
ordinary nature. The position of the bird
which is generally erect, is immediately
changed. It lowers its head and inclines its
body to watch the motions of the person
beneath; throws forward the lateral feathers
of its head, which thus has the appearance of
being surrounded by a broad ruff; looks
towards him as if half-blind, and moves to
and fro in so strange a manner, as almost
to induce a person to fancy that part
dislocated from the body. It follows all the
motions of the intruder with its eyes; and
should it suspect any treacherous intentions,
flies off to a short distance, alighting with its
back to the person, and immediately turning
about with a single jump to recommence
its scrutiny. In this manner the barred owl
may be followed a considerable distance, if
not shot at—for to halloo after it does not
seem to frighten it much. But if shot at
and missed, it removes to a good distance,
after which, its whah-whah-whah! is uttered
with considerable pomposity." Pomposity