ROBERT EVANS SNODGRASS — THURMAN 3 



guest one afternoon, stepped into the kitchen for a moment. Young 

 Robbie (as he was known then), left alone with the lady, felt it his 

 duty to entertain her. Throwing himself onto the floor directly in 

 front of her, ventral side down, he proceeded to give his best imper- 

 sonation of the sea-lion, raising himself on his front flippers, stretch- 

 ing up his neck, and barking while swinging his head from side to 

 side. The lady unaccountably became pale and rigid, got up, went to 

 the kitchen door, and in a tremulous voice said, "Mrs. Snodgrass, I 

 think there is something the matter with your little boy." His mother 

 relieved her with the information that he was only playing sea-lion, 

 but the lady did not ask for an encore. 



The first entomological observation which Dr. Snodgrass recalls 

 is seeing that the legs of grasshoppers, cut off by his father's lawn 

 mower, could still kick while lying on the pavement. This apparently 

 mysterious fact made a strong impression on him, and he decided 

 that sometime he would look into the matter. 



In 1883 the Snodgrass family moved to the town of Wetmore in 

 northeastern Kansas, where his father became a cashier in the bank, 

 later rising to higher offices. Here Robbie's interest turned to ma- 

 chinery, and he finally made a steam engine that almost worked — the 

 piston would go out but it would not go back. However, the turning 

 point in his life came when he received an air gun and target as a 

 birthday gift. Though shooting at a target soon became rather tame 

 sport, the family principles absolutely forbade the shooting of birds. 

 Then an inspiration saved the situation ; he would learn to mount birds 

 and thus preserve them for science. This argument prevailed to the 

 extent that he was allowed to shoot two birds of each kind. So he ob- 

 tained a small book, "Taxidermy Self-taught," and soon had a vacant 

 bookcase full of birds sitting on perches, looking rather uncomforta- 

 ble, but still giving a fair imitation of how they appeared in nature. 

 Then he became known locally as a professional taxidermist. When 

 pets in the neighborhood died, the owners brought them to him for 

 mounting. Their appreciation, however, usually was expressed in such 

 remarks as, "No, Dickey never did look like that," or "Polly didn't 

 have shoe buttons for eyes." This discouraged him from following 

 taxidermy as his life's work. Accordingly he decided to be just an 

 ornithologist, and continued to shoot and mount birds for his own 

 collection. His efforts were rewarding, as some of the specimens were 

 borrowed once for exhibition at a local county fair. It must be under- 

 stood, of course, that there were no Audubon Societies in those days, 

 and that field-glass study of birds was yet a long way off. Only a 

 bird in the hand could be identified. Later he acquired Coues's "Key 



