tion:Who stuffed that white owl?"No one spoke in the shop,The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;The customers, waiting their turns, were all readingThe "Daily," the "Herald," the "Post," little heedingThe young man who blurted out such a blunt question;Not one raised a HEAD, or EVEN made a suggestion;And the barber kept on shaving."Don't you see, Mr. Brown,"Cried the youth, with a frown,"How wrong the whole thing is,How PREPOSTEROUS each wing is,How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is --In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 't is!I make no apology;I've learned owl-eology.I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,And cannot be blinded to any deflectionsArising from unskilful fingers that failTo stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.Mister Brown! Mr. Brown!Do take that bird down,Or you'll soon be the laughingstock all over town!"And the barber kept on shaving."I've studied owls,And other night-fowls,And I tell youWhat I KNOW to be true;An owl cannot roostWith his limbs so UNLOOSED;No owl in this worldEver had his claws curled,Ever had his legs slanted,Ever had his bill canted,Ever had his neck screwedInto that attitude.He cant do it, because'Tis against all bird-laws.