146 



THE OOLOGIST. 



tion was given to willows than other- 

 wise would, had we been better ac- 

 quainted with the habits and eccen- 

 tricities of the Night Heron. And here 

 may we mention (with apologies to the 

 reader) a common error with most ob- 

 servers. Far too often do we record as 

 facts (in memory if not in record,) re- 

 sults based upon a single observation. 

 Our first impressions are generally the 

 deepest of our convictions and we are 

 loathe to admit even to ourselves the 

 possibility of a mistaken idea. 



But to return to the Night Heron. 

 On the 2nd of June 1901, I was lazily 

 wheeling along the timber road of 

 Bowses' Grove, riding parallel to the 

 creek which lay some distance below 

 me, when a startled Night Heron arose 

 from then bank and flew directly over 

 my head. With a loud squawk he 

 dropped into a small grove of second 

 growth of hickory on my'.left and visions 

 of Heron's nests filled with big, blue 

 eggs passed before my eves. Deciding 

 that the trees in this grove were too 

 small to be chosen for a heronry, I re- 

 solved to ride on to a large grove di- 

 rectly ahead. 



Dismounting quickly I strapped on 

 my climbers and was ready for busi- 

 ness I daresay some of my readers will 

 wonder why I did not first find the 

 heronry This thought occured to me 

 shortly after, when I had found no 

 signs of the heronry in any part of the 

 timber. I can only explain my actions 

 by confessing that I was probably just 

 a little bit excited. 



My disappointment caused me to turn 

 back to the first grove where the ac- 

 tions of the Night Heron might be re- 

 garded as suspicious. Fifty yards 

 tramping beyond the fence placed me 

 suddenly and without warning in the 

 midst of my long-looked-for heronry. 

 I had stepped on a large twig and at 

 the loud snap, a Night Heron flew 

 down from a tree a few yards in ad- 

 vance. Instantly the air seemed full of 



Herons and as each one gave vent to 

 a series of squawks in as many differ- 

 ent keys, the noise was truly deafening. 



About 30 feet up in the first tree I 

 saw a large pile of sticks and in the 

 next another, and so on as far as my 

 eyes could reach. Each direction I 

 turned I saw these large white birds 

 hurriedly leaving their nests. 



My former state of excitement was 

 as nothing compared with my condition 

 at this moment. Nests to the right of 

 me — nests to the left of me — nests all 

 around me — not quite "six hundred," 

 but enough to satisfy any egg crank. 

 Several minutes elapsed before I had 

 sufficiently collected my wits to decide 

 which nest to first investigate. 



While yet on the ground I was "up a 

 tree." A nervous, hurried climb 

 brought me within reaching distance of 

 my first nest. Debating the question 

 as to whether the set would number 

 three or four eggs, I felt into the nest. 

 Each finger of my hand was promptly 

 seized by a hungry, week-old Heron. 

 Their strenuous endeavors to swallow 

 these useful members would have 

 proved alarming, had not nature snug- 

 ly fastened them to my hand. Week- 

 old Herons — almost a month too late 

 for fresh sets of eggs. Oological stock 

 went tumbling and my spirits fell to 

 zero. There seemed to be no hope for 

 better luck, for if one set had hatched, 

 (I reasoned) all would be hatched. 



Dejectedly I descended to the ground 

 but remembering a storm of two weeks 

 ago, I fell to theorizing. Would it be 

 possible— I asked myself— for a severe 

 wind storm to dislodge and destroy a 

 few of these apparently flimsy struct- 

 ures? In such an event the owners 

 would be obliged to rebuild and at this 

 late date, second nests would probably 

 contain fresh eggs. 



With this theory as a stimulant I 

 climbed twelve more trees, in each case 

 to be rewarded with a vision of three 

 or four gangling yellow-eyed young 



