Dove's wings and the rosy breast of the grosbeak completed the barbarous display.
How my heart sickened as I gazed at these pleasant, refined, soft-voiced women flaunting the trophies of their cruelty in the beautiful sunlight.
Had they no compassion for the feathered mother who had been robbed of her young for the sake of a hat?
"Oh, how can they do such dreadful, such wicked things!" I moaned.

My mother heard my lament and signaled for us to come up where she was perching.
"You see now who are our worst enemies," said she.

"The cat preys on us to satisfy his bodily hunger, but women have no such excuse.

We are not slaughtered to sustain their lives but to minister to their vanity.
For years the women of Christian lands have waged their unholy war against us.

We have been driven from our old haunts and forced to seek new places.