lawn. The head of the house has a most languid and self-conscious strut,
and his microscopic mind is fixed entirely on his splendid trailing tail.
If I could only master his language sufficiently to tell him how
hideously ugly the back view of this gorgeous fan is, when he spreads it
for the edification of the observer in front of him, he would of course
retort that there is a "congregation side" to everything, but I should at
least force him into a defence of his tail and a confession of its
limitations. This would be new and unpleasant, I fancy; and if it
produced no perceptible effect upon his super-arrogant demeanour, I might
remind him that he is likely to be used, eventually, for a feather
duster, unless, indeed, the Heavens are superstitious and prefer to throw
his tail away, rather than bring ill luck and the evil eye into the
house.

The longer I study the cock, whether Black Spanish, White Leghorn,
Dorking, or the common barnyard fowl, the more intimately I am acquainted
with him, the less I am impressed with his character. He has more pride
of bearing, and less to be proud of, than any bird I know. He is
indolent, though he struts pompously over the grass as if the day were
all too short for his onerous duties. He calls the hens about him when I
throw corn from the basket, but many a time I have seen him swallow
hurriedly, and in private, some dainty titbit he has found unexpectedly.
He has no particular chivalry. He gives no special encouragement to his
hen when he becomes a prospective father, and renders little assistance
when the responsibilities become actualities. His only personal message
or contribution to the world is his raucous cock-a-doodle-doo, which,
being uttered most frequently at dawn, is the most ill-timed and
offensive of all musical notes. It is so unnecessary too, as if the day
didn't come soon enough without his warning; but I suppose he is anxious
to waken his hens and get them at their daily task, and so he disturbs