NATURAL HISTORY. 



When a bird or a wild animal is killed, that is the end of it. If photographed, it may still live and its educational 



and scientific value is multiplied indefinitely. 



THE MUCH NAMED WHITETAIL DEER. 

 w. t. hornaday, in the Zoological Society Bulletin. 



The general zoologist, interested more in 

 animals than in their names, who attempts 

 to stand midway between the small body 

 of technical zoologists and the masses of 

 the unscientific public, is certain to be torn 

 by conflicting emotions. Compared with 

 him, Prometheus was a comfortable and 

 even happy man. He must cheerfully con- 

 front the masses with the assurance that 

 scientific zoology is the foundation of all 

 infallibility, even while the vultures of 

 Nomenclature are gnawing at his vitals. 

 Whether he will or no, he must change the 

 scientific names on beasts and birds as 

 often as the inexorable scientific leaflet de- 

 mands, and without making a wry face 

 carry them out to 3 decimal places. 



There are times, however, when the gen- 

 eral zoologist is filled by a wild desire to 

 go baersark, and say things. In his calmer 

 moments, he firmly resolves to cut loose 

 from all scientific names, and make an open 

 campaign with common sense as the only 

 issue,. He writes a scorching lecture en- 

 titled "Popular versus Unpopular Nomen- 

 clature;" which so relieves his mind that 

 he calms down sufficiently to go out and 

 make a fresh lot of changes on his labels. 



To-day, the name makers are in strife as 

 to who wields the heaviest pick and shovel, 

 and who can dig the deepest after fossil 

 names for living animals. It matters not 

 for how many decades, or centuries, the 

 name of a popular wild animal has been 

 in the public prints, nor how many million 

 people are acquainted with it. If your 

 hunter of fossil names discovers a particu- 

 larly obscure deposit of antediluvian 

 science, straightway he hies him to the un- 

 worked cemetery, and digs and explores, 

 regardless of the risk of being caught by 

 many kinds of ancient germs. 



Possibly he finds that some prehistoric 

 nobody, whose scientific work died a-born- 

 ing, bestowed on some wild animal a Latin 

 name, or at least insinuated one, is minutes 

 prior to the bestowal of the name bv which 

 the millions of to-day know it. The newly 

 found name is tenderly taken up, scraped, 

 disinfected, and patched until it will hold 

 together. It is then brought into the light 

 of day, and laid as an offering at the feet 

 of the fetish called Priority. This means 

 that the familiar name, the one in universal 

 use, must fall down, and give place to the 

 newly found fossil. 



But there is one source of grim satisfac- 



tion. Each fossil name is certain to be 

 knocked out by other fossil names. 



As an illustration, take the Virginia, or 

 whitetail deer, a modest and unassuming 

 animal, and very set in its ways. To the 

 unassisted lay mind there is no more ex- 

 cuse for changing its name every year than 

 there would be in renaming Washington 

 at every session of Congress; but what do 

 we hear. 

 In 1785, right or wrong, Boddaert named 



it Cervus virginianus. 

 In 1827 and 1835 and 1841, 3 other authors 

 mistakenly gave it 3 other names, with- 

 out effect. 

 From 1785 to 1884 the following authors 

 wrote of this animal as Cervus virgin- 

 ianus: 



1788, GmELIN. 183 1, GODMAN. 



1789, Zimmerman. 1836, Schreber. 

 1792, Kerr. 1842, Dekay. 

 1801, Shaw. 1844, Wagner. 



1822, Demarest. 1851, Audubon. 



1823, Say. Bach man. 

 1825, Harlan. 1857, Baird. 

 1830, Doughty. 1877, Caton. 

 During the century covered as above, 



several foreign authors wrote of this ani- 

 mal under other names than that recog- 

 nized by the foregoing array of highly 

 respectable authorities. 



With a century of general use in Amer- 

 ica, the name Cervus virginianus had be- 

 come not only widely known, but one 

 might suppose it to be well fixed, also. 

 Now mark its fall, and the result. 



In 1884, by common consent, the leading 

 American mammalogists adopted a name 

 bestowed on this animal, in 1842, Cariacus 

 virginianus ; in 1895, Allen called it Dor- 

 celaphus virginianus ; in 1897, Rhoades 

 changed it to Dorcelaphus americanus : 

 in 1898, in a book printed on very good 

 paper, Lydekker (of England) seriously 

 adopts for this animal Mazama americana; 

 in 1899, Miller dug up Odocoileus ameri- 

 canus; in 1902, Allen proposes to call it 

 Dama virginiana. 



What next? In the language of the 

 graduating essay, whither are we drifting? 



To the general zoologist, all this naming, 

 and re-naming, and tre-naming, of which 

 the above is merely a sample case, would 

 be amusing, if it were not so serious ! 

 It does not phase the general public, for 

 through all this erratic bestowal and use 

 of unpopular names, the good old popular 

 name, whitetail deer, shines like a 

 beacon, permanently fixed. The bother 



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