44 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



pursuing the study of birds. In a vast majority of instances this is 

 not true. The average nest hunter is usually as ignorant of the actual 

 home life of the birds he robs as we are of the condition of life on 

 -Mars. 



I will plead guilty of this sin of commission myself. I have a col- 

 lection of eggs gathered from various quarters of the globe and repre- 

 senting many families of our feathered friends. I cannot express 

 with what degree of regret and shame I now look upon those mute 

 evidences of the rapacity of man. I sigh when I contemplate the vast 

 deal of harmony that has been stilled forever when those tiny treasures 

 were clutched from beneath the little mother's breasts. Every day 

 now I go forth and follow my inclinations for nest hunting but instead 

 of being armed with drills and egg boxes and collecting pistol I have 

 only my faithful camera. Its cyclopean eye looks momentarily into 

 the nest and brings away a lasting impression of the contents and often 

 before I am out of sight, the avian resident is back at home in undis- 

 turbed possession of her treasures. My delight in seeing the image 

 impressed upon the glass is far greater than even in the old days, when 

 I gloated over my stolen spoils. 



Let me give you the result of one day's sojourn on lake shore and 

 in forest in North Idaho. As the sun's rays were just gilding the 

 mountain tops and the friendly robins were straining their throats in a 

 matin of praise to the Giver of all Light, I strayed from the busy 

 haunts of men armed as aforesaid. My path led me along the shore of 

 the beautiful Lake Pend d'Oreille whose placid waters mirrored back 

 the deep blue of the towering mountains. While picking my way 

 around some drift wood I startled from her nest of softest down, a 

 Mallard and before she had ceased circling around watching me with 

 anxious eye I had set my machine and her olive eggs were glued to 

 my dry plate with a flash of light. I passed on and she returned to 

 her duties of incubation. 



Donald, my Chesapeake dog, enjoyes the hunting of birds in his 

 doggish way, fully as much as his master, and to him belongs the 

 honor of locating the next nest. We were tramping a burn of several 

 acres in extent when he nosed up an Ashy Gnatcatcher from her brood 

 of nestlings. Poor little mother when she saw that great red mouth 

 opened over her defenseless darlings she was wild with grief and fear. 

 Her frantic cries soon brought me to the spot and at my word of com- 

 mand the obedient animal lay down and watched my preparations for 

 the photographing, with a great deal of interest. The little mother 

 ■was an interested spectator as well, but I very much fear that her 

 interest had a different motive. The youngsters, taking advantage of 



