Then a change came, the Quill grew suddenly longer with a curl to its tip that made one wonder, if natural, how its original wearer had lived with it. This Quill, however, did not stay well in curl, and less than a year ago it was displaced by the reigning favorite, a Quill as aggressively impertinent as any that decks the cap of the operatic Mephisto, but not half as becoming to the wearer.
Now comes the inconsistency of the moderates. They wear these Quills blindly, because they have not studied birds thoroughly enough to distinguish between plumages except when aided by decided color. The sentence, "It is only a Quill," covers deadly sins of omission. I have cornered several women who are what might be called aggressive Audubonites: "Do you know that the notched Quill in your hat is a pinion of the American Eagle?" "Oh no, you must be mistaken, it surely is only a Goose, or perhaps a Turkey feather, and besides,"—drawing herself up with superior wisdom, "Eagles are very rare birds, that fly so high it is very difficult to shoot them, and I know at least fifty people who are wearing these Quills."
Rare? yes, pinion of peerless flight! But what bird can fly so high or find so eery a resting place as to escape the 'desire of the eye' of fashion? Pause a moment, well-meaning sisters of 'little knowledge.' Hold a Quill class and lay your outing hats on the dissecting table! Study out the things you have been wearing, and you will be wiser, and I hope sadder also, resolving either to join the total abstainers, or to devote enough time to bird study to be consistent in your actions.
"But," you may say, "We are consistent even now. The Eagle is neither a song bird, an insect eater, nor a game bird, and from an economic standpoint it can only be considered as a bird of prey and an eater of wastage."
Yes, this is all true, and yet, in the higher view of life, the poetic value of things must take rank with the practical. And what bird expresses wild grandeur and poetry of motion in so great a degree as the Eagle? What has Burroughs recently said of it?—"The days on which I see him are not quite the same as the other days. I think my thoughts soar a little higher all the rest of the morning; I have had a visit from a messenger of Jove. The lift or range of those great wings has passed into my thought."
Pegasus harnessed to a plow or 'Cæsar dead and turned to clay,' stopping a hole 'to keep the wind away,' would not be a greater misuse than thus plucking the pinions of our national Bird of Freedom to act as rudders to women's hats.
M. O. W.
Audubon's Seal
(From a granddaughter of Audubon)