144 THE GREAT HORNED OWL. 



already espied the quany, and is sailing in wide circles meditating his plan 

 of attack. The Turkey-hen, which at another time might be sound asleep, 

 is now, however, so intent on the care of her young brood, that she rises on 

 her legs and purs so loudly, as she opens her wings and spreads her tail, that 

 she rouses her neighbours, the hens, together with their protector. The 

 cacklings which they at first emit soon become a general clamour. The 

 squatter hears the uproar, and is on his feet in an instant, rifle in hand; the 

 priming examined, he gently pushes open his half closed door, and peeps out 

 cautiously, to ascertain the cause by which his repose has been disturbed. 

 He observes the murderous Owl just alighting on the dead branch of a tall 

 tree, when, raising his never-failing rifle, he takes aim, touches the trigger, 

 and the next instant sees the foe falling dead to the ground. The bird, 

 unworthy of his farther attention, is left a prey to some prowling opossum 

 or other carnivorous quadruped, and again all around is tranquillity. 



Differences of locality are no security against the depredations of this 

 Owl, for it occurs in the highest mountainous districts, as well as in the low 

 alluvial lands that border the rivers, in the interior of the country, and in 

 the neighbourhood of the sea-shore. Every where it finds abundance of food. 

 It is, moreover, an extremely hardy bird, and stands the severest winters of 

 our northernmost latitudes. It is consequently found dispersed over all 

 parts of the United States. 



The flight of the Great Horned Owl is elevated, rapid and graceful. It 

 sails with apparent ease, and in large circles, in the manner of an eagle, rises 

 and descends without the least difficulty, by merely inclining its wings or 

 its tail, as it passes through the air. Now and then, it glides silently close 

 over the earth, with incomparable velocity, and drops, as if shot dead, on the 

 prey beneath. At other times, it suddenly alights on the top of a fence-stake 

 or a dead stump, shakes its feathers, arranges them, and utters a shriek so 

 horrid that the woods around echo to its dismal sound. Now, it seems as if 

 you heard the barking of a cur-dog; again, the notes are so rough and 

 mingled together, that they might be mistaken for the last gurglings of a 

 murdered person, striving in vain to call for assistance; at another time, 

 when not more than fifty yards distant, it utters its more usual hoo, hoo,hoo-e, 

 in so peculiar an under tone, that a person unacquainted with the notes of 

 this species might easily conceive them to be produced by an Owl more than 

 a mile distant. During the utterance of all these unmusical cries, it moves 

 its body, and more particularly its head, in various ways, putting them into 

 positions, all of which appear to please it much, however grotesque they may 

 seem to the eye of man. In the interval following each cry, it snaps its bill, 

 as if by way of amusement; or, like the wild boar sharpening the edges of 

 his tusks, it perhaps expects that the action will whet its mandibles. 



