tionists, the "Audubonites", got all they went after in securing- Federal control of 

 migratory birds. We are heartily glad they did, both because Federal control is a good 

 thing in itself, and because the atmosphere of conservational effort was a little stifling 

 for other interests just as real, if a little less important. It is an open secret that 

 some of the reformers, not the leaders, in their zeal for protection held the claims 

 of science too lightly, or else scouted them outright in a passion of intolerance. That 

 painful time is happily over. These good people have got what they want — what we 

 all want, indeed — and the children, once rebuked for stealing birds' eggs, have been 

 recalled from the closet and charged not to take more than necessary. "All right, 

 mother, dear. Come on, Bud." 



Besides that of moderation, two other lessons have been learned — or have they been 

 learned? — from our association with conservationists. The first lesson is that the 

 just sentiments of bird-lovers are opposed to the commercializing of "oology." This 

 is a large and complex matter, and discussion of it must be reserved for another place* 

 1 do not mean to condemn "dealers" as such, those few whose work really takes 

 rank as science; nor would 1 forbid the purchase and sale of eggs within certain 

 narrow limits; but unless collectors have learned by now that science and sentiment 

 alike are against the exploitation of this field, they are blinded by selfishness and 

 they have learned very little. In the definite establishment of a theoretical exchange 

 value in place of a cash value for American birds' eggs, we feel that the Committee 

 of Twenty-five, appointed to prepare a revised list of American birds' eggs, have 

 won both a moral and a tactical victory. 



From the conservationists also we have learned the authority of public opinion. 

 Anyone who thinks henceforth that he can dety public opinion, or "do as he pleases," 

 is out of his proper environment. Fie should join the recluse of Amerongen forthwith. 

 The public deserves, as it demands, our conhdence. The fundamental article in the 

 creed of a democrat is the right of the public to understand. To be sure, bird-nesting- 

 is a business no more to be conducted in the glare of a spot-light than is deer hunting 

 or courtship; but the reasons for it may be as clearly understood and as graciously 

 approved. The man who rouses a whole countryside in quest of a bird's nest is a 

 pest, of course; for he starts unguided forces of destruction. But another who works 

 under cover of darkness, or who defies a countryside intent upon, the protection of a 

 certain species, is a worse pest, tor he orfends the public and discredits his profession, 

 or his hobby, besides, it is an easy matter to persuade the public of a just cause, and 

 persuasion is more just as well as more comtortable than either apology or evasion. 



The agitation in favor of conservation has left us with another legacy more im- 

 portant than any of the foregoing. It has taught us that the things of nature belong- 

 to the public, and that the possession of these things must justify, or render an 

 equivalent in service. This is the square basis of the modern preference for public 

 museums. The private ownership of material which came from the public and which, 

 therefore, belongs to the public, is an anomaly over which an enlightened democracy 

 is increasingly restive, lime was when the hoarder of gold was flattered and envied. 

 JNlow, since the public need has come to the fore, such an unsocial person is unspar- 

 ingly condemned, in time of plenty we heard naught of hoarding food, but now the 

 "profiteer" is justly acclaimed our worst enemy, in like manner, now that we are 

 taking account of our public resources, the trees, the waterfalls, the brooks, the birds, 

 we demand that the would-be, or self-acclaimed, owner shall give a reasonable 

 equivalent in service for the custody of these things. This is good democratic 

 doctrine, and it is the faith upon which all public, and some private, museums are 

 founded. It is the creed of the hour. 



But it is easy to indulge a doctrinaire exaggeration of the evils of private owner- 

 ship in birds' eggs. As matter of tact, there is tar greater danger, in America at least, 

 of irresponsible public ownership. The pathos of the ardent, highly qualified private 

 collector who, at the approach, near or remote, of the grim reaper, casts about for 

 some likely institution upon which to confer his precious hoardings — the pathos, I 

 say, of this oft-repeated tiagedy is indescribable. The recipient, it may be, is his 

 alma mater, an institution which boasts a modest museum in connection with its 

 zoological department; or it is the local natural history society, which already has a 

 collection of fossil clams, badly stuffed gazelles and ancient brocaded slippers — the 

 last, of course, under the head of anthropology. Or, most fortunate of all, he 

 bequeathes his oological wealth to some Great Museum, a museum whose palaeontologi- 

 cal treasures, or it may be conchological collections, are known the world around. In 

 either case the result is apt to be the same. The zoological professor of alma mater, 

 or the curator of the local junk-pile, bows obsequiously and assures, the generous 

 donor that a special case will be provided for his offering. It is; and the eggs are 

 set out under glass in orderly fashion and exposed to the full light of day. Or the 

 Director of. the Great Museum refers the disposition of the Robinson Collection of 

 birds' eggs to his subordinates, the curators of ichthyology and entomology, respec- 

 tively. These learned gentlemen heave a sigh, regretting the unfortunate lack of 

 space, and they pack away the egg collection in the steenth corridor of the fourth 



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