IOWA ORNITHOLOGIST. 



13 



ing thrush, hnnet, goldfinch, 

 greenfinch, chaffinch, bullfinch, 

 red-breasted European robin, 

 black starling, crossbeak, Oregon 

 robin, or meadow lark, or mock- 

 ing bird," etc., going on to pro- 

 tect a number of European and 

 mythological birds and protect- 

 ing only five of the native birds 

 of the state excepting the game 

 birds. 



This is not by any means more 

 than a fair sample of the ignor- 

 ance shown by our legislators. 



The subject is a large one and 

 many laws should be enacted for 

 the preservation of our birds, yet 

 the most important of all is to 

 secure an enforcement of the laws 

 in force and in the meantime let 

 the educational work go on and 

 if a law is enacted that is what 

 it should be, it must be drafted 

 by a true sportsman-ornithologist 

 who has the best interests of our 

 birds at heart and the education 

 to see what legislation is needed. 



A Heronry. 



PAUL C. WOODS. 



O 



N June 15th, 1895, I returned 

 home from a year's work at 

 school. The following week I 

 was informed that a number of 

 strange birds had been seen about 

 three miles from the city, and 



that their nests had been found. 

 The informer claimed that it was 

 the birds' first year here, at least 

 the first they had been seen. I 

 was instantly aroused to action 

 and resolved to explore the place 

 and discover what new species of 

 bird we had. June 25th, a friend 

 and myself started for the place 

 with a horse and buggy. We 

 went along the prairie road for 

 about three miles, then crossed a 

 pasture and tied our horse at the 

 outskirts of a scrub-oak thicket. 

 After following this for a little ' 

 way, we turned down into a ra- 

 vine where the trees were larger. 

 Here we got our first sight of the 

 birds. They appeared to be in 

 great numbers and were very shy. 

 The ravine widened at this place 

 and ended at the bank of the 

 river. We followed the river for 

 about forty rods, during which 

 time we saw scarcely a bird. 

 We were beginning to get a little 

 anxious, when suddenly we heard 

 a great fuss and squawking ahead, 

 in an oak thicket, the home of 

 the Black-crowned Night Heron. 

 Not the pretty place that one 

 might imagine, for herons are very 

 dirty and slovenly. 



But the nests, I never saw the 

 equal, at every step we would 

 hear a fresh scramble as the 

 birds were frightened off. The 



