“The prey is seized by two strong claws warmly gloved in down as far as the roots of the nails. Each foot has four toes, three pointing habitually forward, and one backward; but, by a privilege peculiar to nocturnal birds of prey, one of the front toes is movable and can be turned back so that the set of talons is divided into two pairs of equal power whenever the bird wishes to grip, as in a vise, the branch on which it perches, or the victim struggling in its grasp. One blow of the beak breaks the head of the captured creature. This beak is short and very hooked. The two mandibles move with great ease, which enables them, in striking against each other, to give out a sharp rattling sound or clicking by which the bird expresses anger or fright. They stretch wide at the moment of swallowing, exposing a big opening leading into a very large gullet. When they are thus opened, the prey, which has already been kneaded into a compact mass between the claws, disappears entirely as if swallowed up by an abyss. All goes down, including bones and hair. Not a trace is left of the field-mouse, not even its coat of fur. But a single victim is seldom enough, and so the hunt continues. More mice follow the first one, and all are first killed by a peck on the head, all are swallowed whole. If the bird chances upon a fat beetle, he does not disdain it. It is a small mouthful, to be sure, but highly flavored with spices that will aid digestion. At last, having eaten all it possibly can, the owl returns to its lodging in the hollow of some rock, or in a decayed tree trunk, or in some ruined building. “Now follows digestion. Motionless in the quiet of its peaceful solitude, the bird gently closes its eyes to dream of the fine exploits it has just achieved and to plan others for the following night. Its slumbers are deep and long. In the meantime the stomach does its work. The food swallowed without any preparation or sorting must be divided into two parts, that which is really nutritious and that which is worthless. With the aid of its gastric juice the stomach carefully separates the bones and skins from the nutritious part of its contents. The flesh thus made semi-fluid disappears, to be converted into blood, and a confused mass remains, composed of skins turned inside out and wearing all their fur, bones as clean as if they had been scraped with a knife, and the hard wing-covers of beetles. This bulky mass could not be passed on by the stomach without danger. How then will the bird get rid of it? Let us watch and find out. Ah, the owl is waking up! Grotesque heavings of the body denote trouble within. The disturbance increases, something ascends through the outstretched neck, the beak opens, and it is all over: there drops to the ground a ball containing skins, bones, scales, fur, feathers—in fact, the entire mass of indigestible matter.