522 



HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION 



THE PINTAIL DUCK. 



wings for flight had wisely transplanted itself 

 to God's country. 



Fortunately for the Great Blue Heron, — 

 by millions of people miscalled the Blue 

 "Crane," — the cruel and insatiate goddess of 

 Fashion has not yet decreed that Woman, the 

 merciful and compassionate, shall collect its 

 plumes for her personal adornment. The well- 

 defined fishy flavor of the Heron's flesh protects 

 it from the evil eye of the epicure; and there- 

 fore do we still possess this odd and picturesque 

 bird. True, there is today but one Great Blue 

 Heron where a hundred years ago there were a 

 hundred ; but we are thankful that the ruthless 

 savages of civilization have spared us even a few 

 samples of the original stock. And yet, there 

 are today State Game Commissioners who are 

 being importuned to "kill off the Blue Herons," 

 — because in a whole summer season half a 

 dozen of them will kill and eat as many fish as 

 one greedy fisherman would catch and send to 

 market in two days ! 



If there is anything in game-protection that is 

 supremely annoying, it is solemn talk about the 

 "great destruction of fish" by herons, kingfish- 

 ers, ospreys, and Californian sea-lions. 



In many of the coves and alcoves of the low, 

 wet lands flanking the mighty Hudson stream, 

 the Woodcock and the Wilson Snipe still are 

 found ; but they are now so rare throughout the 

 Hudson valley that few gunners find it worth 

 while to hunt them. It is the same old story, — 

 of inordinate and persistent destruction, down 

 to the vanishing point. Throughout New York 

 state, and many other states, also, both these 

 species should be accorded absolute all-the- 

 year-round protection for at least ten years. It 

 is either that or extinction ; and which will the 

 people choose? 



Thanks to the splendid efforts of the bird 

 lovers of New York state, headed by the Audu- 

 bon Society and William Dutcher, the song 

 birds are in far better case than the game birds 

 and water-fowl. I believe that none of the 

 eastern New York song-bird species of Hudson's 

 day have become extinct, nor anywhere near it. 

 Every spring and summer the sweet wild-wood 

 melody of the Wood Thrush rings day after 

 day through the leafy aisles of the Zoological 

 Park, and like the flash of a fiery feathered 

 meteor, the Scarlet Tanager streaks through 

 the woods and across our lawns, close before 



