144 A BIRD) (COLLECTORS MEDEBY: 
history evaporates. But set him to stuff birds and collect birds’ eggs, and 
he will not, at all events, grow up a prig, and he may develop into a second 
Waterton unawares. The harm he will do is infinitesimal. In fifteen years 
I have only known one rare bird and one rare nest obtained by the unaided 
efforts of boys. 
As he gets older he makes more notes and kills fewer birds; he has 
got an interesting hobby, and he may write an interesting book, but he 
will not necessarily be a monster who collects “for love of killing,” or 
“to make money out of it”! He may even find himself the possessor of a 
little common sense, a quality in which his detractors have shown themselves 
on occasions strangely deficient. 
As a specimen of the rubbish that can be written by an enthusiastic 
bird protector, and of the astounding simplicity which he can exhibit, I give 
below a cutting which appeared not long since in a widely circulated London 
newspaper, one which reflects as little credit on the intelligence of the 
editor as on that of the author himself, since the absurdity of it is apparent 
at a glance. Speaking of a sale of rare eggs, including those of the St. 
Kilda Wren, at Stevens’ auction rooms, and protesting against the taking 
of these eggs, the writer solemnly affirms: ‘‘ There were five nests containing 
twenty-three eggs of the St. Kilda Wren, and they sold in all for £2 16s. 
The natives of St. Kilda protest strongly against dealers taking these eggs. 
They depend upon the birds very largely for their food supply, and barter 
feathers and oil for footstuffs and manufactured goods. It is feared that 
the breeding stock of the native Wren will soon be exhausted.’ If words 
mean anything at all, we are apparently to regard the natives of St. Kilda 
as persons who, by some occult process, extract oil from the local Wren 
and afterwards exchange it for “footstuffs.” It would be interesting to hear 
how many native Wrens it takes to produce a gallon of oil. Again, these 
hardy fowlers, a race generally credited with the power of masticating 
and digesting salted Puffins and Fulmars, must be pictured henceforth 
as a society of epicures, who regale themselves on the daintiest of entrées— 
St. Kilda Wrens 11 aspic—much, I suppose, as the Romans used to delight 
in figpeckers, or the modern Frenchman in his frogs and snails! 
WEST, NEWMAN AND CO., PRINTERS, HATTON GARDEN, LONDON, 
