P®s!$a Wmmmwi ; 
SATURDAY, APRIL 22, 1893. 
OUT-OF-DOOR STUDIES. 
To the Editor of the Transcript : I spent the 
8th of April in a little village in southern Berk- 
shire. It lies in a beautiful valley, but its 
charms have long been known, and the influx 
of summer visitors and the inroads of the farm- 
ing lands have left little of the wild beauty 
which it must once have possessed. During my 
morning’s walk I was reminded in a striking 
manner, by two incidents which befell me, of 
the difficulty of wholly exterminating the rem- 
nants of savagery. 
My path led through some second growth at 
the base of a mountain, beloved by the inhab- 
itants of the valley which it guards, and famous 
in Bryant’s poetry. Nearly at the base of the 
mountain lies a shallow body of water. As I 
neared it, J hear<Ltho loud quacking of ducks 
and their vigorcdBfclashing in the water. There 
seemed to be a IwH dock of waterfowl feeding 
and playing closWwme in the pond. I thought 
of wild fowl, but recollecting that a farm lay 
on the other^de'of the water, I thought it more 
probable tha^he farmer’s ducks had waddled 
down through the meadow to enjoy a more ex- 
tended swim. Accordingly I crashed rather 
heedlessly through the undergrowth till I came 
within sight of the water. The open space was 
BtiU bordered by ice, on tlie edge of which a 
long row of black duck, were sitting, while 
others of the company were swimming, splash- 
ing and quacking in the open. They suffered 
a near approach, hut as I emerged from the 
tangle of alder, they rose, on© hunch after 
another, with loud protestations, and circled 
about, displaying their bottlers hap© cl forms and 
the silver lining on the under surface of their 
wings. It was a pleasant disappointment to 
find they were wild, the reversa of a. former ex- 
perience of mine. In a retired Nova Scotia 
inlet J one© stalked a company of noble swans, 
only to see them all leave the water and march 
up the hill, transformed into domestic geese. 
Crossing the valley in which the pond lay I 
came to the base of the main range of the 
Hoosacs. A trout brook runs along at the foot 
of the mountains. The hills opposite were 
once clothed with splendid pines, but their 
crowns are now for the most part shorn. Along 
the brook, however, there still stood a noble 
company of trees, into the depths of which I 
plunged. 
Just as I was on the point of leaving them a 
- nest caught my eye, about fifty feet up in a 
-•tout pine. As I turned toward it a large bird 
flew off. I started at once to climb the tree, ex- 
pecting at most to find the eggs of a hawlc. 
There were no live branches below the nest, 
but there were plenty of stout stubs, in the 
angles of which I was as safe as need he. As I 
was about half way up, the bird which had left 
the nest flew by and lit in full view in a neigh- 
, boring tree. I saw at once that it was a great 
| horned owl, a bird whose acquaintance I had 
long wanted to make. 
The owl now began to make a dismal cry like 
the barking of a small dog, or the croak of a 
night heron. "Waugh! Waugh! In a moment 
another bird answered a short distance off, and 
soon flew into view. Then the pair began to 
hoot. Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo! Hoo-oo! Some- 
times they prefaced their hooting with the 
above-mentioned cry, Tho one which had 
: com© in answer to the call of his mate, I took to 
b© the male, though I was not at all sure. At 
anyrateltwas with this one that I was par. 
ticularly concerned. He was far holder than 
i the other, and soon began making unpleasant 
demonstrations on the limb of a neighboring 
tree. He spread his wings and, stretching out 
his head, glared furiously and snapped his 
i beak. His yellow eyes were opened wide, and 
; when he hooted his white bib showed plainly. 
I Presently he flew past mo, almost grazing my 
I head. 
J I was in a difficult position at the moment, 
and I began to wonder just how bold the pair 
would be in defence of their nest. I had read 
of brave Scotch lads who had fierce battles in 
the clouds with eagles. I remembered how the 
rich Englishmen bought the young birds, and 
how the money saved the cow from the avari- 
cious landlord. But I had no such incentive, 
and, moreover, the situation was now compli- 
cated by another circumstance. Yesterday’s 
, snow still lay thick on the ground, and it had 
been raining for some tim®. During the morn- 
ing the sun bad struggled through once or 
twice, and the mists had lifted off the moun- 
; tains. This variety of weather weuld have sat- 
i isfied any but the most capricious month of the 
1 year. Now, however, a distant rumble which I 
had heard for the last few minutes developed 
into a loud crash, and in an instant the pines, 
the owls and I were acting our little drama to 
an accompaniment of vivid flashes and loud 
peals of thunder. 
j The next swoop the owl made brought him 
into violent contact with my shoulder. This 
direct attack roused, all the obstinacy in my 
otherwise gentle nature, and I lost no time in 
making directly for the nest. A second later I 
felt a sharp blow at the base of the head, which 
knocked off my hat and drew blood. But I had 
now reached the nest, and the bird for some 
reason gave up the attack. 
The nest was a deep, firm mass of pine twigs* 
resting on two limbs close to the trunk of the 
tree. There were two young birds in it, downy 
white masses, stretched out in the manner qf 
ancient gryphons. On the edges of the struc- 
ture lay the hindquarters of two Northern 
hares. 
I descended without disturbing the nestlings 
and made for the nearest shelter from the thun. 
derstorm. I was drenched and my nerves un- 
strung from the unusual exercise, but I was 
happy. I had found the most savage bit of bird 
life left in the valley, and I had seen a new 
bird. R. H. 
Arlington . April 12, 1893. 
Attacked by a Great Horned Owl. 
On March 2d of the present year I started 
out on a tramp into the country to see how the 
migration of our birds was progressing, and 
to examine a few old hawks’ nests, which I 
had reason to believe might be occupied by 
Bubo virginianus. 
My supposition was correct, for in an old 
nest which was used by a pair of Eedtails in 
1887, and from which I took one addled egg 
and left two young, I found Mrs. Owl at home. 
The nest is in an elm tree about fifty feet up. 
From the ground I could not see whether it 
was occupied or not, hut certain signs about 
the trunk of the tree made things look sus- 
picious, and a few sticks thrown into the 
treetop started the bird off. 
I felt very jubilant, and was counting on an 
addition to my collection. Laying my gun 
down and taking my gloves off I prepared for 
a climb. Fortunately, the tree was of easy 
ascent, and I made rapid progress. The owls, 
in the meantime, had approached to the nearest 
trees, and were making a great hubbub — 
hooting and snapping their bills. They looked 
the very picture of courage as they sat facing 
me in such an erect attitude. 
When within eight feet of the nest some- 
thing attracted my attention, and caused me 
to look to the right. It was well I did, for I 
just had time to throw up my right arm to 
protect my face, when I was struck a blow on 
the forehead by one of the owls with such force 
that I was dazed for an instant. The owl 
passed both claws through my hat, which was 
of soft felt, and cut my scalp. I recovered 
from the shock and surprise in an instant, and 
breaking off a dead limb prepared for battle. 
I was none too soon, for she was at it again. I 
struck her a blow which turned her course 
slightly; hut I also received one, doing me no 
damage however. 
The owl returned to the same tree each time, 
and would probably have been at me a third 
time, but I threw a stick with such good effect 
as to frighten both away. It is needless to say 
that the nest contained young birds, two in 
number, and for supper they had the remains 
of a rabbit and the leg of a black hen. 
On reaching the ground I had a good look 
for my hat. The idea of going home bare- 
headed was not pleasant by any means, hut I 
finally found it some forty or fifty yards off. 
, A 
O &0. XIV. Apr. 1880 p.54 56 
, / & ? J f 3t3- 3 ^? 
