Bulletin of the Michigan Ornithological Club. 



babies, too, were starved to death. We 

 helpless birds liave no orphan asylums here 

 on earth but we, too, have a Creator's love 

 — more dear. My distracted mate is calling 

 to me now, but my tiny feet are fastened 

 amid lace and ribbon and my wings are 

 powerless. I am your prisoner and my 

 crushed life sacrificed to your pride and 

 vanity. 



Oh, w^oman, a millinery store is a place 

 of death ! I did not find myself here alone. 

 There were hundreds of other mothers whose 

 throbbing hearts were stilled aufl whose 

 nests were desolate. There were Parrots, 

 quite speechless, looking unnatural and 

 even hideous ; and delicate Hummingbirds, 

 lovingly named by the Indians, '^Living 

 Sunbeams," were placed in great numbers 

 upon your hats. They are such dear little 

 neighbors and love their short, bright lives 

 as much as you do yours. Do any of you 

 think an Owl is an artistic decoration for a 

 hat? Do you not know that the farmers of 

 our state need all the living Owls that they 

 have, and more, to guard their crops, your 

 food? 



Now they tell me that you are cruel ; 

 tliat you know the terrible suffering you 

 cause ; that you have been told again and 

 again the pitiful story of the Egret whose 

 plumes you wear. But I cannot believe it. 

 You seem so kind and tender-hearted. 

 Would you — is there one of you who would 

 take a life to make your own more happy? 

 I know full well the answer. You would 

 shrink in horror at the thought. Then wh}^ 

 won't you stop and think of who does kill 

 us and why we must die? And do we 

 make you happy then ? 



If you would simply say that you are 

 tired of wearing birds, there would yet be 

 hope for my poor friends. I have learned 

 that you once had a queer fashion of wear- 

 ing wire cages under your dresses ; that 

 they went out of style and you stopped 

 wearing them. You could stop wearing us 

 and there would be no more victims of a 

 barbarous fashion. 



Once I had a tiny home in the trunk of 

 an old apple tree. My mate and I were so 

 happy. Perhaps we were too proud of the 

 live blue eggs we so jealously guarded. 

 One day a boy stole our treasures — said he 

 was making a collection. He acted sorry 



when we begged and besought him to leave 

 them, but he took them, and they are now 

 with hundreds of other eggs on a long string 

 in his house. Our hearts were broken and 

 there were five less Bluebirds to make the 

 summer glad. 



Another time, when our little ones were 

 learning to fly, a boy with a pea shooter 

 killed three of them, and he didn't seem to 

 care. 



Can't you teach your boys and little 

 brothers better? They will listen to you if 

 you try to interest them. You know how 

 to be winning. If I were a girl I would 

 spend more time with my own little 

 brothers. They will be the men who will 

 make our laws very soon. Teach them to 

 protect us. And then be sure and do your 

 part — you now know what. 



If I were a woman, I should be ashamed 

 to wear a dead bird. 



Since I began my existence in a millinery 

 store I have belonged to several of you and 

 I know that you do not realize what you 

 are doing; but God will not hold yon guilt- 

 less if you continue to encourage the de- 

 struction of innocent bird life. The pretty 

 girl who first bought me, tried to believe 

 the storv told her to the eff"ect that I was a 

 "made bird." But our Creator was the 

 maker. 



Aside from the fact that without our help 

 insects and worms would devour your land, 

 your crops would fail, and your trees be 

 leafless, what would the summer be with- 

 out us? 



Have you no pity for those who cannot 

 plead their own cause? 



Won't you save us before it is too late? 



For the sake of the little ones you love 

 and all that is dear to you in your own 

 homes, be merciful to us, the helpless 

 "children of the air." 



If every one of you will do your best for 

 us, the joyous day will soon come when the 

 milliners will announce, "Birds are out." 



Frances Margaret Fox. 



Bay City. 



Mr. Geo. J. Friedrich of Brooklyn has done so ninch 

 good work in the way of protecting the birds and ani- 

 mals in that vicinity, that many of the people really be- 

 lieve him to be a game warden. He would be an honor 

 to that department, but he is only an earnest, conscien- 

 tious naturalist and a fearless gentleman. 



