OWL SECRETS 
293 
thrill him with joyous enthusiasm. In case one does not hear 
the owls for himseli, 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-0-0; 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 Februarv 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 they 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 
