10 Cuapman, In Memoriam: Daniel Giraud Elliot. on 
In July, 1889, falling a victim to one of the jokes which native 
collectors sometimes unconsciously play on unsuspecting and 
inexperienced ornithologists, I described as new a Hummingbird 
from the Bogota region. In acknowledging receipt of a copy of 
the description, Dr. Elliot, then absent from the Museum, mildly 
expressed his doubts as to the validity of the proposed new form, 
and on re-examination of the type and only known specimen, I 
found that it was composed of the head of one species and the body 
of another, so skilfully joined that it required close examination to 
detect the fraud. 
A second paper was therefore written stating the true status of the 
alleged ‘new species.’ Before this confession of error was published, 
Dr. Elliot returned to the museum, and with a hope that he might 
possibly fall into the trap I had so unwittingly entered, I said 
nothing of my latest discovery and merely handed him the type of 
the ‘new species’ for examination. This was twenty-seven years 
ago, but I can still clearly see Dr. Elliot, after only a momentary 
examination of the specimen, looking at me over his glasses and 
hear him saying, with as much sympathy in his voice as though he 
himself had been responsible for the error, “See here my boy, 
there’s something wrong.”’ To his trained eye the fraud was as 
obvious as though I had shown him a Bluebird’s body with a Cardi- 
nal’s head. Nothing remained for me to do, therefore, but pro- 
duce the manuscript of my confession with which I had taken the 
precaution to arm myself. 
Dr. Elliot was in his seventy-eighth year when his great mono- 
graph of the Primates was completed. At this age most men, 
even those who have retained an exceptional measure of health 
and vigor, consider their life-work as ended. Few of their early 
associates remain and the days devoid of either duty or pleasure 
drag wearily along.’ But those who were privileged to know Dr. 
Elhot in these last years of his life never thought of him as old. 
Time, it is true, had left its visible marks, but his mind was as 
young, his interests as keen as those of men who could count but 
half his years. If the friends of his youth had gone, community 
of interests brought him new ones. Occupation never was want- 
ing, for there were always fresh fields inviting conquest, and to the 
end he retained that joy in his work which is the priceless heritage 
of the born naturalist. \ 
