Michigan Ornithological Club 43 



fourteen per tree, although eight was the usual number. Had it not been a 

 case of catch the train or stay all night 1 would have devoted a day to this 

 colony as much interesting and valuable data could have been secured. 



A change in train time during the year encouraged a party of us to make 

 all preparations for an oological raid upon the herons, and this was executed 

 May 9, 1901. Imagine the disappointment when our destination was reached 

 — the herony had been abandoned. Silence reigned and even most of the nests 

 destroyed by winter winds. The cause was soon ascertained. Scattered about 

 were skeletons and feathers, mostly the remains of young birds. We knew 

 what had happened. Young herons remain in the nest until nearly large as 

 their parents, and at this stage the farmers had enjoyed a wholesale slaughter. 

 However, the herony was not entirely deserted. Amid this story of courage 

 and woe there sat a young horned owl (Bubo virginianiis) close beside an old 

 heron's nest about which clung a profusion of owl feathers. In silence we 

 were retracing our steps when our melancholy musings were interrupted by 

 a familiar houk and a heron glided into the woods from a great height. We, 

 of course, made for the point, but without enthusiasm until the new colony 

 was actually sighted. Sad experience had taught these birds the wickedness 

 of man, and they left as we approached and perched upon the tamarack trees, 

 a quarter of a mile away, where they remained all day, only an occasional 

 individual returning to inspect our doings, but always from high in the air. 

 Sycamores are the favorite trees, but we saw none in this wood. The seventy- 

 two nests were placed in oak, elm and ash, but mainly the latter. As in the 

 old herony the greatest number was in an elm and consisted of ten nests, 

 while there was the usual number per tree. They were all similar in appar- 

 ance, being deeply hollowed and composed entirely of sticks so compactly and 

 strongly interlaced that it was no easy task to dislodge one. This was a 

 necessary precaution as they swayed with the lightest breeze. Their average 

 height was 85 feet above the ground. The usual number of eggs per set was 

 four or five, and six was more common than three. Each set was very uni- 

 form in size, shape and color shade, plainly indicating that in no case had more 

 than one bird laid in one nest. Incubation varied from slight to far advanced. 

 The only fresh egg was in one of these nests in an ash tree. One of the re- 

 maining nests held five eggs, while the other was occupied by two of the Red- 

 tailed hawk (Butco borealis) upon the point of hatching. We did not take 

 many eggs, and returning to explore this woods the latter part of the month, 

 we passed through the herony and could plainly hear the young in the nests. 

 Having never seen a heron in the down I climbed to a nest with three young 

 and an unfertile egg. Although the birds could not have been more than a 

 day old we heard their cries for food before ascending the tree. 



Our next visit was May 3rd, 1902, and we found the colony reduced to 

 40 nests and six the greatest number in one tree — an ash this time. Very 

 little climbing was done. I ascended a large ash to the three nests it con- 

 tained and I secured a set of four and two of five — all fresh. Twenty feet 

 below the lowest nest and just sixty-five feet above the ground, the main 

 trunk divided into two large branches and, while lowering the herons' eggs 

 T noticed a male Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis) carry food into a knot hole at 

 this fork. The depth of this hollow was three inches, and its width five. 

 The nest was composed entirely of rabbit and mouse hair and held eight 

 slightly incubated eggs, one of which was cracked. I also flushed a Crow 



