one morning, only to make a record? We need the true ideal of sport
and an altogether new ideal of conservation, and we need them very
badly and very soon.

We have had our warnings. The great auk and the Labrador duck have
both become utterly extinct within living memory. The Eskimo curlew is
decreasing to the danger point, and the Yellowlegs is following. The
lobster fishing is being wastefully conducted along the St. Lawrence;
so, indeed, are the other fisheries. Whales are diminishing: the Cape
Charles and Hawke Harbour establishments are running, but those at
L'Anse au Loup and Seven islands are not. The whole whaling industry
is disappearing all over the world before the uncontrolled persecution
of the new steam whalers. The walrus is exterminated everywhere in
Labrador except in the north. The seals are diminishing. Every year
the hunters are better supplied with better implements of butchery.
The catch is numbered by the hundreds of thousands, and this only for
one fleet in one place at one season, when the Newfoundlanders come up
the St. Lawrence at the end of the winter. The woodland caribou has
been killed off to such an extent as to cause both Indians and wolves
to die off with him. The barren-ground caribou is still plentiful,
though decreasing. The dying out of so many Indians before the time of
the Low and Eaton expedition of 1893-4 led to an increase of
fur-bearing animals. But renewed, improved, increased and uncontrolled
trapping has now reduced them below their former level. Hunting for
the market seems to be going round in a vicious circle, always
narrowing in on the quarry, which must ultimately be strangled to
death. The white man comes in with better equipment, more systematic
methods and often a "get-rich-and-get-out" idea that never entered a
native head. The Indian has to go further afield. The white follows.
Their prey shrinks back in diminishing numbers before them both.