“ Honor and admiration for the few women,” says Mr. 
S. D. Keach (in the Country Gentleman for June 2, 1896) 
“ who will not wear bird corpses in their head-gear.” But 
they are few. “ The old cannibal,” says Mr. Hudson, 
“had no soul growths to boast of, and did not sin 
against the light as it appears one of the first ladies of 
England did, when the editor of the London Chronicle 
(July, 1896) had to beg her not to wear an egret- 
trimmed dress at her wedding. 
Are we to suppose, after all, that many of those whom 
we must go on counting as our friends, who pay the 
shopmen to pay the Lechevalliers, Wilkersons, and John- 
sons to do this work, do not yet, in spite of many ap- 
peals, know the facts ? How many have answered the 
egret’s story thus (a young lady with a Sunday-school 
class interested in charity) : “I have my hands full, and 
cannot subtract energy from other causes for the Au- 
dubon Society. Besides, it is no worse than sport.” 
(A handsome and fashionable friend) : “I can’t flatter 
myself that I have any influence. The thing should be 
attacked in Paris.” (A merchant who will not sell 
playing cards); “I will refer the matter to the head of 
my millinery department,” — in spite of which he has 
gone on selling egrets for two months. (The wife of a 
minister who disapproves of the fashion) : “I am half a 
convert, but intend to wear out my egret feathers, as I 
can’t afford to throw away my best hat trimmings.” 
It is our nearest relatives, our closest friends who 
say, “ When the bird is once dead I might as well wear 
the feathers as any one else ; ” or, “ What can the 
poor little Audubon Society do against the cloud of 
feathers you see in New York?” or, “I can imagine 
joining the Audubon Society — i. e., stopping wild bird 
feathers for decoration while keeping on with game 
and other birds — to please an importunate friend, but 
not for any interest I take in the cause;” or, “ I am 
not among those who place animals or birds before 
men,” and “Don’t look at this,” holding a hand over 
the egret, “it’s an old one, — I had it before I said I 
would stop.” 
Better turn to him, who, telling us that it were 
foolish inconsistency to help only the birds without 
regard for the dire cry of animal pain that yearly rends 
the sky, assures us that the circulation of man’s blood 
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