benefit of the doubt, and dismissed the case. Can we expect that that officer would again expose himself to unjustifiable ridicule?
It is, as was shown, possible to ride roughshod through the existing Acts, but many constables, by bluff alone, have carried out the meaning and intention of bird protection, though they were aware that strict adherence to the letter of the law would have spelt failure. In other cases the law has been upheld by public interest and agitation; those in authority were quick enough to feel the popular pulse, though personally they cared nothing about birds.
Looking back at fifty years of struggle to legislate on behalf of wild birds we see some strange examples of the futility of human efforts and some curious and unexpected results upon our fauna. To no man, perhaps, does bird protection owe more than to the late Professor Newton. He was a rare type of philosophical ornithologist, and largely to his determination was due the first really unselfish legislation on behalf of wild birds—the Sea-Birds Protection Act of 1869. There were earlier protective measures—indeed they date back to medieval days, but in every other case the Acts were tainted by personal interests, and partook of the nature of game and forest laws; the bittern, heron, duck, or other bird was protected in order that some privileged few might destroy it; the peregrine, hobby, and merlin were not to be exterminated, for they were required by certain noble sportsmen for hawking. Other laws were openly intended to prevent trespass; only those in high places might kill, might enjoy blood sports.
Newton, though no sentimentalist, was touched by the sufferings of the sea-fowl. To the big breeding stations, especially those of Flamborough and Speeton, excursion trains were run in the nesting season from London and,
