The Background of Ornithology 71 



from that article: — "We can picture to ourselves a few prairie stragglers finding 

 their way into the newly cleared lands of the settlers and gradually establishing 

 themselves in the eastern fields. By what route they came is a matter of con- 

 jecture — probably from the southwest in the northward-setting tide of the 

 spring migration, or possibly by way of the Great Lakes and St. Lawrence 

 Valley. " Still, as I said before, I do not feel quite so sure of the actual facts as 

 I did fifteen years ago. One acquires a habit of enjoying the idea — the broad 

 sketch with its hazy outlines — without bothering about the finished picture. 

 The settlement of the land has, as we know, greatly altered the status of bird 

 life and has added a background of domesticity quite as charming in its way as 

 the wilderness. 



One other background which some of us — not all of us — love — -the orni- 

 thologist's own collection. That collection made in the days of one's youth, 

 each specimen, ill-shapen though it may be, forever potent to conjure the scene 

 and the hour of its eventful capture. And the smell of those old boxes and chests 

 of drawers — what fragrant memories are evoked! 



These backgrounds seem to me to be the very soul of ornithology. What 

 branch of science comes nearer to satisfying that primitive instinct in a man — 

 that instinct that takes him into the woods to hunt and fish or for the mere sake 

 of steeping the senses in the fresh, rank life of things, and at the same time 

 abundantly satisfying the acquisitive and classifying habit of mind? 



Each one of us holds some secret key — some open sesame — into the delight- 

 ful background, and in the words of Keats in his "Ode to a Nightingale" so 

 may we apostrophize the bird of our imagination — • 



"Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 



No hungry generations tread thee down; 

 The voice I hear this passing night was heard 



In ancient days by emperor and clown; 

 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 



Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 

 She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 



The same that oft-times hath 

 Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 



Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn." i 



