IN the spring of the year eighteen hundred and sixty-eight therelived, in a certain county of North Britain, two venerable WhiteOwls.

The Owls inhabited a decayed and deserted summer-house. Thesummer-house stood in grounds attached to a country seat inPerthshire, known by the name of Windygates.

The situation of Windygates had been skillfully chosen in thatpart of the county where the fertile lowlands first begin tomerge into the mountain region beyond. The mansion-house wasintelligently laid out, and luxuriously furnished. The stablesoffered a model for ventilation and space; and the gardens andgrounds were fit for a prince.

Possessed of these advantages, at starting, Windygates,nevertheless, went the road to ruin in due course of time. Thecurse of litigation fell on house and lands. For more than tenyears an interminable lawsuit coiled itself closer and closerround the place, sequestering it from human habitation, and evenfrom human approach. The mansion was closed. The garden became awilderness of weeds. The summer-house was choked up by creepingplants; and the appearance of the creepers was followed by theappearance of the birds of night.

For years the Owls lived undisturbed on the property which theyhad acquired by the oldest of all existing rights--the right oftaking. Throughout the day they sat peaceful and solemn, withclosed eyes, in the cool darkness shed round them by the ivy.With the twilight they roused themselves softly to the businessof life. In sage and silent companionship of two, they wentflying, noiseless, along the quiet lanes in search of a meal. Atone time they would beat a field like a setter dog, and drop downin an instant on a mouse unaware of them. At another time--movingspectral over the black surface of the water--they would try thelake for a change, and catch a perch as they had caught themouse. Their catholic digestions were equally tolerant of a rator an insect. And there were moments, proud moments, in theirlives, when they were clever enough to snatch a small bird atroost off his perch. On those occasions the sense of superioritywhich the large bird feels every where over the small, warmedtheir cool blood, and set them screeching cheerfully in thestillness of the night.

So, for years, the Owls slept their happy sleep by day, and foundtheir comfortable meal when darkness fell. They had come, withthe creepers, into possession of the summer-house. Consequently,the creepers were a part of the constitution of the summer-house.And consequently the Owls were the guardians of the Constitution.There are some human owls who reason as they did, and who are, inthis respect--as also in respect of snatching smaller birds offtheir roosts--wonderfully like them.

The constitution of the summer-house had lasted until the springof the year eighteen hundred and sixty-eight, when the unhallowedfootsteps of innovation passed that way; and the venerableprivileges of the Owls were assailed, for the first time, fromthe world outside.

Two featherless beings appeared, uninvited, at the door of thesummer-house, surveyed the constitutional creepers, and said,"These must come down"--looked around at the horrid light ofnoonday, and said, "That must come in"--went away, thereupon, andwere heard, in the distance, agreeing together, "To-morrow itshall be done."

And the Owls said, "Have we honored the summer-house by occupyingit all these years--and is the horrid light of noonday to be letin on us at last? My lords and gentlemen, the Constitution isdestroyed!"

They passed a resolution to that effect, as is the manner oftheir kind. And then they shut their eyes again, and felt thatthey had done their duty.

The same night, on their way to the fields, they observed withdismay a light in one of the windows of the house. What did thelight mean?

It meant, in the first place, that the lawsuit was over at last.It meant, in the second place that the owner of Windygates,wanting money, had decided on letting the property. It meant, inthe third place, that the property had found a tenant, and was tobe renovated immediately out of doors and in. The Owls shriekedas they flapped along the lanes in the darkness, And that nightthey struck at a mouse--and missed him.

The next morning, the Owls--fast asleep in charge of theConstitution--were roused by voices of featherless beings allround them. They opened their eyes, under protest, and sawinstruments of destruction attacking the creepers. Now in onedirection, and now in another, those instruments let in on thesummer-house the horrid light of day. But the Owls were equal tothe occasion. They ruffled their feathers, and cried, "Nosurrender!" The featherless beings plied their work cheerfully,and answered, "Reform!" The creepers were torn down this way andthat. The horrid daylight poured in brighter and brighter. TheOwls had barely time to pass a new resolution, namely, "That wedo standby the Constitution," when a ray of the outer sunlight flashedinto their eyes, and sent them flying headlong to the nearestshade. There they sat winking, while the summer-house was clearedof the rank growth that had choked it up, while the rottenwood-work was renewed, while all the murky place was purifiedwith air and light. And when the world saw it, and said, "Now weshall do!" the Owls shut their eyes in pious remembrance of thedarkness, and answered, "My lords and gentlemen, the Constitutionis destroyed!"