Freaks Of Fashion.

Such a hubbub in the nests,     Such a bustle and squeak!     Nestlings, guiltless of a feather,     Learning just to speak,     Ask - "And how about the fashions?"     From a cavernous beak.     Perched on bushes, perched on hedges,     Perched on firm hahas,     Perched on anything that holds them,     Gay papas and grave mammas     Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings:     Hear the gay papas.     Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat     Will be all the wear,     Snug, and also cheerful-looking     For the frostiest air,     Comfortable for the chest too     When one comes to plume and pair."     "Neat gray hoods will be in vogue,"     Quoth a Jackdaw: "Glossy gray,     Setting close, yet setting easy,     Nothing fly-away;     Suited to our misty mornings,     A la neglige."     Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur,     Haughty Cockatoos     Answer - "Hoods may do for mornings,     But for evenings choose     High head-dresses, curved like crescents,     Such as well-bred persons use."     "Top-knots, yes; yet more essential     Still, a train or tail,"     Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous     Not too stiff, and not too frail;     Those are best which rearrange as     Fans, and spread or trail."     Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind     An inimitable neck:     "After all, there's nothing sweeter     For the lawn or lake     Than simple white, if fine and flaky     And absolutely free from speck."     "Yellow," hinted a Canary,     "Warmer, not less distingu."     "Peach color," put in a Lory,     "Cannot look outr."     "All the colors are in fashion,     And are right," the Parrots say.     "Very well. But do contrast     Tints harmonious,"     Piped a Blackbird, justly proud     Of bill aurigerous;     "Half the world may learn a lesson     As to that from us."     Then a Stork took up the word:     "Aim at height and chic:     Not high heels, they're common; somehow,     Stilted legs, not thick,     Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward     And snapped to his beak.     Here a rustling and a whirring,     As of fans outspread,     Hinted that mammas felt anxious     Lest the next thing said     Might prove less than quite judicious,     Or even underbred.     So a mother Auk resumed     The broken thread of speech:     "Let colors sort themselves, my dears,     Yellow, or red, or peach;     The main points, as it seems to me,     We mothers have to teach,     "Are form and texture, elegance,     An air reserved, sublime;     The mode of wearing what we wear     With due regard to month and clime.     But now, let's all compose ourselves,     It's almost breakfast-time."     A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle!     Who cares to chatter or sing     With delightful breakfast coming?     Yet they whisper under the wing:     "So we may wear whatever we like,     Anything, everything!"