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A Pica for Our Birds. 



tie children. Could she have heard the 

 wails of these little orphans, so soon to die 

 of starvation, would she ever again adorn 

 her hat with the plumage of birds ? Al- 

 ways in the future will such decorations re- 

 mind me of those piteous cries. 



Another season, to avoid the renewal of 

 these painful scenes, I went to the seashore. 

 There I was never weary of the sight of old 

 ocean as it rolled in tidal waves on the 

 beach, the white surf beating in musical 

 rhythm over the fissured rocks. In one of 

 these sheltered cavities I found a seat 

 commanding a view of the crescent-shaped 

 shore for a long distance, and the marshes 

 left by the retreating tide. 



Here I spent my mornings watching the 

 sea birds as they alighted to search among 

 the sea weeds and grasses for their food, 

 then soaring aloft till they were lost to 

 sight in the blue ether. 



Here might the naturalist find the avocet^ 

 or lawyer bird, as it is called, from the flip- 

 pancy of its tongue, and perpetual clamor 

 as it utters its sharp note of click, click: 

 the curlew, with its pale brown plumage 

 and white breast thickly spotted with red, 

 the red-backed and the red-breasted sand- 

 pipers searching among the sea weeds 

 for bivalve shells; the willet, whose loud 

 cries of //// will-willet sounding almost 

 incessantly along the marshes, may be heard 

 at a distance of more than a mile. It is 

 said that the affection and anxiety of this 

 bird for its eggs and young are truly pa- 

 thetic. " If a person enters the marsh he 

 is beset by the willet skimming over his 

 head and uttering a loud, sharp, clicking 

 noise, as he approaches his nest." 



Here also come the skimmer or cutwater, 

 the greater or lesser tern, small birds of 

 the duck kind ; the red-breasted mer- 

 ganser, the beautiful and graceful goos- 

 ander, which is in great demand for mil- 

 linery purposes. But alas ! it was not the 

 lover of birds for the interest he feels in 

 their habits, who came here with harmless 



intent, but the fowler for mere wanton love 

 of sport, or to supply the milliners with the 

 beautiful plumage, whose presence was 

 announced by the screams and sudden 

 flight of the frightened birds. 



Alas ! for my quiet resting place. Where 

 can I go to enjoy the health-restoring tones 

 of ocean breeze, or the fragrant aroma of the 

 pines and balsams of our inland groves, and 

 escape the sight and sound of the death- 

 dealing gun ? 



Until fashion, woman's despotic tyrant, 

 is dethroned, and public sentiment is 

 aroused to the cruelty and immorality of 

 this traffic in these innocent songsters of 

 the woods, these scenes will continue to be 

 re-enacted. 



Women are not heartless, but they have 

 not been awakened to the extent and enorm- 

 ity of this wholesale slaughtering of the 

 sweet songsters. 



When they see the beautiful wings, 

 breasts, and even whole bodies of birds on 

 the counters and in the windows of mil- 

 liners' stores, the questions where and how 

 they were procured, does not occur to 

 them, thinking, perhaps — if they think at 

 all about it — that the birds shed their 

 skins as snakes do, or that they grow like 

 flowers. 



If they realize the pain and barbarity 

 involved in this business, and the sad loss 

 of the music of our woods, soon to be 

 silenced forever, if public sentiment is not 

 aroused to a consideration of this subject, 

 I cannot but think that every true woman 

 would not for a moment hesitate to take 

 the pledge never to wear any decorations 

 obtained at such unmerciful cost; and that 

 she would by every effort of which she 

 was capable, discourage others from so do- 

 ing. 



The Audubon Society of New York is 

 acting nobly in this cause, but it is slow and 

 discouraging to contend with those en- 

 gaged in this profitable but inhuman traffic. 



The Society should have the support of 



