The worst exhibitions ever made of the wolfish instinct to slay that springs eternal in some human (!) breasts are those brought about through the distress or errors of wild animals. By way of illustration, consider the slaughter of half-starved elk that took place in the edge of Idaho in the winter of 1909 and 1910, when about seven hundred elk that were driven out of the Yellowstone Park at its northwestern corner by the deep snow, fled into Idaho in the hope of finding food. The inhabitants met the starving herds with repeating rifles, and as the unfortunate animals struggled westward through the snow and storm, they were slaughtered without mercy. Bulls and cows, old and young, all of the seven hundred, went down; and Stoney Indians could not have acted any worse than did those "settlers." On another occasion, it is recorded that the prong-horned antelope herd of the Mammoth Hot Springs wandered across the line into Gardiner, and quickly met a savage attack of gunners with rifles. A number of those rare and valuable animals were killed, and others fled back into the Park with broken legs dangling in the air. In the interest of public decency, and for the protection of the reputation of American citizenship, one of two things should be done. The northern boundary of the Park should be extended northward beyond Gardiner, or else the deathtrap should be moved elsewhere. The case of the town of Gardiner is referred to the legislature of Montana for treatment. Beyond question, the highest sentiments of humanity are those that are stirred by the misfortunes of killable game. During the past thirty years, I have noticed some interesting manifestations of the increased sympathy for wild creatures that steadily is growing in a large section of the public mind. Thirty years ago, the appearance of a deer or moose in the streets of any eastern village nearly always was in itself a signal for a grand chase of the unfortunate creature, and its speedy slaughter. Today, in the eastern states, the general feeling is quite different. The appearance of a deer in the Hudson River itself, or a moose in a Maine village is a signal, not for a wild chase and cruel slaughter, but for a general effort to save the animal from being hurt, or killed. I know this through ocular proof, at least half a dozen lost and bewildered deer having been carefully driven into yards, or barns, and humanely kept and cared for until they could be shipped to us. Several have been caught while swimming in the Hudson, bewildered and panic-stricken. The latest capture occurred in New York City itself. A puma that escaped (about 1902) from the Zoological Park, instead of being shot was captured by sensible people in the hamlet of Bronxdale, alive and unhurt, and safely returned to us.