OWL SECRETS 293 



thrill him with joyous enthusiasm. In case one does not hear 

 the owls for himself, it is well to inquire of farmers or woods- 

 men and ask them, if they hear any in the future, to make 

 note of the exact spot whence the hooting seems to issue. 



Sometimes, toward the end of a lowering winter afternoon, 

 I drive along a road near the village of Kent that approaches 

 Leonard Mountain on the north side, and stop to listen. After 

 waiting awhile, at length I hear, issuing from the hemlocks 

 halfway up the steep declivity, a baritone voice mellowed by 

 distance, giving an impression of power and wildness. There 

 are three syllables : the first is prolonged and tremulous ; the 

 others follow quicker and shorter, yet not without delibera- 

 tion, — "Whoo-o-o; whoo, whoo." I need not the reminder 

 of the song to 



" Listen to the hooting of the Great Horned Owl." 



At intervals of a minute or two the cry is repeated, with some 

 intermissions, usually ceasing about at dark, when the fierce 

 creature "bates its cry," lurking silent and watchful for prey. 

 And meanwhile, from another spot farther along the moun- 

 tain, another voice of softer timbre is heard, the answering 

 cry of the smaller male bird. These hootings are almost 

 invariably followed by stormy weather, and the owls are 

 recognized as an excellent " farmers' almanac." 



Toward the end of February these cries proceed nearly 

 every night for a week or more from one locality well up on 

 the mountain, and here it is that the nest, a rude platform of 

 sticks, upon some fine old hemlock, is being repaired and 

 the two white eggs laid. Again and again I have carefully 

 located these cries up on old Leonard Mountain, and tried to 

 reach the place whence thev proceeded, only to wander along 

 the precipitous ledges through the wild forest maze. Though 

 I have often been successful in other woodland tracts, it is 



