THE HAZARD MEMORIAL BUILDING, THE NEW HOME OF THE MUSEUM OF COMPARATIVE OOLOGY 



clean. Because the plan was studiously reminiscent in conception, we have such 

 details as rough-trowelled walls, weathered doors and beams, hand-wrought 

 hardware, gateway and posterns ravished from old haciendas or older missions, 

 and a furnishing of antique chairs and tables and brasses, which make the as- 

 sembly room at least a veritable old cloister. That the new home of the Museum 

 of Comparative Oology is serviceable, attest such details as exhibition rooms — 

 three of them, enough to house 100,000 eggs and 5,000 nests; an administration 

 room equipped with modern office furniture and a steel filing system; a well 

 lighted work room; a storage room; a sterilizing chamber; retiring rooms; and 

 cupboards and cases of a dozen utilities. 



After the assembly hall, which, somehow, one wants to call the chapel, 

 in spite of its suitability for high teas and its more than suspicion of light fan- 

 tastic toes, interest focuses upon the patio. This sacred precinct is a square not 

 over thirty feet across, flanked on three sides with a broad-arched loggia, with 

 tiled floor and roof — this tiny square, open to the sky, and partly paved with 

 rough-hewn stone, holds three sturdy oak trees, which, with their fellows peeping 

 over from the outside of the hollow square, afford an arabesque of sky-bound 

 tracery, which matches the fondest dream of an earthly paradise. In the corners 

 of the patio ferns vie with lilies for attention, while bright-hued berries clamber 

 over mossy boulders. A bird fountain plashes at the rear of the enclosure; while 

 as one looks out toward the street through a hallway of massive construction 

 he finds that the quaintly fashioned iron gate which gave him entrance, rusty, 

 bedeviled, and creaking, now stands in bewildering intricacy of outline against 

 a range of mountains and the northern sky. 



The guests of Dedication Day, some two hundred of them, chiefly per- 

 sonal friends of the donors, with patrons and members of the institution, saw 

 all this; but they did' not see, at first, what lay hidden beneath the curtains draped 

 against the south wall. Two little girls, clad, the one in blue and the other in 

 white, stood at attention before the curtain, while musicians, the last of the old 

 Spanish serenaders, disposed themselves in a neighboring specimen room, and the 

 guests found seats in the loggia or overflowed into the patio proper. 



Dr. George Francis Weld, rector of All-Saints-by-the-Sea and dean of the 

 Santa Barbara Diocese, speaking first, told, simply and tenderly, of his privileged 



