EGG COLLECTING. 



FRED MAY, 

 School Taxidermist. 



To the Editor of Birds a?id All Nature: 



1AM glad the magazine of birds is 

 furnishing its readers so many- 

 points about the good qualities of 

 our birds. And as they are being 

 protected more every year by the state 

 laws and by the lovers of birds, I think 

 they are sure to increase. I have often 

 been asked about the decrease in bird 

 life. The blame is generally put on 

 the taxidermist, collector, sportsman, 

 and schoolboy, which I claim is all 

 wrong. The taxidermist collector of 

 to-day is a lover of bird-life, and only 

 hunts specimens to mount for a scien- 

 tific purpose. This gives our school 

 children a better chance to study them. 

 The schoolboy and girl of to-day are 

 doing great good in the protection of 

 bird-life, and your book of birds has a 

 warm friend among them. The true 

 sportsman always lives up to the laws 

 and takes a fair chance with dog and 

 gun. The plume and bird collector 

 will soon be a thing of the past, as hats 

 trimmed with choice ribbons and jets are 

 fast taking the place of those covered 

 with feathers and birds. Now the per- 

 sons who hide behind all these, and 

 who destroy more bird-life in a single 

 season !han all the hunters and collec- 

 tors of skins, are never brought to the 

 eyes of the press. These are the peo- 

 ple who have a fad for egg-collecting. 

 They not only rob the nest of its one 

 setting, but will take the eggs as long 

 as the bird will continue to lay, and, not 

 satisfied with that, will take the eggs 

 from every bird as long as they can find 

 them. They will even take the eggs 

 after incubation has begun, and often- 

 times, after a hard climb for the eggs, 

 will destroy the nest. There are thou- 

 sands upon thousands of settings of 

 eggs of every kind taken every year by 

 these fad egg collectors and you will 

 see in some of our magazines on orni- 

 thology offers of from fifty to five hun- 

 dred settings for sale. Now, what is an 

 egg to this egg collector? Nothing. 

 But to the lover of birds there is a 



great deal in that shell. There is a 

 life; the song of the woods and of the 

 home. In that shell is the true and 

 faithful worker who has saved our 

 farmers and our city homes and parks 

 from the plagues of insects that would 

 have destroyed crops and the beauty of 

 our homes. Shall the law allow these 

 nest-robbers to go on summer after 

 summer taking hundreds of thousands 

 of settings? If it shall I am afraid the 

 increase in our bird-life will be slow. 

 With the help of our game wardens 

 and sporting-clubs a great deal of this 

 could be stopped, and a great saving 

 could be made in game birds' eggs. 

 Our country school children can pro- 

 tect our song birds' nests by driving 

 these collectors, with their climbing 

 irons and collecting cans, from their 

 farms in the breeding-season. Yes, it 

 often looks sad to see a song bird drop 

 at the report of the gun of the skin col- 

 lector. But when we think of the bird- 

 egg collector sneaking like a thief in the 

 night up a tree or through a hedge, 

 taking a setting of eggs on every side 

 while the frightened mother sits high 

 in the tree above, and then down and 

 off in search of more, only to come 

 back in a short time to take her eggs 

 again — what is bird-life to him? What 

 would he care to be sitting in the shade 

 by the lake or stream listening to the 

 song of the robin, or after a hard day's 

 work in the hot summer, be seated on 

 his porch to hear the evening song of 

 the warbler and the distant call of the 

 whippoorwill? Let the lovers of bird- 

 life commence with the spring song, 

 with the building of the nest, and save 

 each little life they can from the Qgg 

 collector. Will this man, if he may be 

 called a man, look into his long draw- 

 ers filled with eggs, and his extra set- 

 tings for sale and trade? Let him 

 think of the life he has taken, the 

 homes he has made unhappy. I should 

 think he would go like Macbeth from 

 his sleep to wash the blood from his 

 hands. 



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