In spite of the societies formed to prevent the killing of birds for ornamenting millinery, and the thousands of signatures affixed to the numerous petitions sent broadcast all over the country, in which women pledged themselves not to wear birds or feathers of any kind on their hats, this is essentially a bird killing year, and the favorite of all the feathers is that of the Owl. There is an old superstition about him too. He has always been considered an unlucky bird, and many persons will not have one in the house. He may, says a recent writer, like the Peacock, lose his unlucky prestige, now that Dame Fashion has stamped him with her approval. Li Hung Chang rescued the Peacock feather from the odium of ill luck, and hundreds of persons bought them after his visit who would never permit them to be taken inside their homes prior to it. So the Owl seems to have lost his ill luck since fair woman has decided that the Owl hat is "the thing." The small size of the Saw-whet and absence of ears, at once distinguish this species from any Owl of eastern North America, except Richardson's, which has the head and back spotted with white, and legs barred with grayish-brown. THE SAW-WHET OWL. "Whew!" exclaims Bobbie. "Here's another Owl. I never knew there were so many different species, mamma." Mamma smiled at that word "species." It was a word Bobbie had learned in his study of BIRDS. "The _Saw-whet Owl_," said she, looking at the picture. "A good looking little fellow, but not handsome as the Snowy Owl in the June number of BIRDS." "He _was_ a beauty," assented Bobbie, "such great yellow eyes looking at you out of a snow bank of feathers. This little fellow's feet have on black shoes with yellow soles, not white fur overshoes like the _Snowy Owl's_." "His eyes glow like topaz, though, just as the others did," said mamma. "Let us see what he says about himself. "As stupid as an Owl. That's the way some people talk about us. Then again I've heard them say, 'tough as a b'iled owl.' B'iled Owls may be tough, I don't know anything about that, for I have been too shy and wary to be caught. "I had a neighbor once who was very fond of chickens. He was a Night Owl and said he found it easy to catch them when roosting out at night. Well he caught so many that Mr. Owl grew very fat, and the farmer whose chickens he ate, caught, cooked, and ate him. His flesh, the farmer said, was tender and sweet. So, my little friends, when you want to call anything 'tough,' don't mention the Owl any more. "A foreigner? "Oh, my, no! I'm proud to say I am an American, and so are all my folks. A branch of the family, however, lives way up north in a region where they sing 'God save the Queen' instead of the 'Star Spangled Banner.' They call themselves English Owls, I guess, because they live on British soil. "Do I sing?