Girl feeding poultryInquisitive Jack.CHAPTER III.The poultry yard.Ishallnot undertake to tell the whole history of the old hen and chickens, whose story is begun in the preceding chapter. If any of my readers meet with Jack, who is now a man, they can ask him, and he will tell them how the greater part of the brood grew up to be pullets or cockerels, and made a considerable noise in the world. He will tell them how the former at last became old hens, and laid eggs, and cackled like their ancestors; and how the latter, after many funny trials, learned to crow, and finally to fight, as their fathers and grandfathers had done before them. I must tell you, myself, what Jack said to his aunt about this fighting.He had watched the chickens with a great deal of care, and he was greatly diverted to see the little roosters, as soon as they had little bits of red combs on their heads, try to crow and fight. They really seemed like some smart boys we have seen, at the age of sixteen or seventeen, trying to smoke cigars, or drink wine, or some other liquor, and appearing very ridiculous, while they fancied that they were exciting the envy and admiration of all around them, inasmuch as they were imitating the deeds of those older than themselves.Jack laughed heartily at the ambitious efforts of the cockerels, as well in boasting as in battle—until, one day, he saw two of them fight till their heads were bloody, and one of them had his eyes picked out. This shocked himgreatly, and his heart being grieved, he went to tell what had happened to his aunt. She tried to comfort him as well as she could, but, at last, he spoke to her as follows: “You told me, aunt Betsey, that these creatures were governed by instinct, and that this instinct was implanted by God. You said that the obedience of the chickens to their parent was of this nature, and furnished a good example to children. Now, I wish to ask if the fighting of the cockerels is not implanted by God, and therefore a good example to children?”Aunt Betsey smiled at the shrewdness of this question, and seeing that it was asked in earnest, and not scoffingly, by Jack, she replied seriously in these words: “I do not suppose, Jack, that instinct is the only guide of animals. It is their guide when young, but when they are older and know how to take care of themselves, then I suppose that in many things they act freely and from their own sense and judgment. When you were an infant you were guided by instinct, but now that you are older, you act freely, according to your choice. You may fight, or you may be peaceful, just as you please. Having arrived at this period, you are responsible for your conduct, for it has pleased God to make you free. It is just so, I think, with these young cockerels; they may fight, or let it alone. If they fight and get bloody noses, they only are to blame. And if they do fight, it is no example for us. God has given human beings a law of peace, and this should be their rule. Dr. Watts has said,‘Let dogs delightTo bark and biteFor God hath made them so—Let bears and lionsGrowl and fight,For ’tis their nature too.’“But it is quite otherwise with human beings; even if brute animals are left to tear each other in pieces, mankind are taught that peace, kindness and harmony are not only the duty, but the happiness of the human race.”From observing the hen and her chickens, Jack’s attention was drawn to the other inhabitants of the poultry yard. The strutting turkey, the hissing, gobbling goose, the waddling duck, the screaming guinea-hen, and the fantastic peacock, each in turn became the subject of his investigation, and each seemed to him to have a character and interest peculiar to itself. If I had the power faithfully to paint all his feelings, and space to detail all his thoughts, I could make the story entertaining, but I must content myself with a very general account of the matter.I believe there are very few persons who have not been often amused in pausing for a half hour and noticing the various airs, manners and customs, of the feathered inhabitants of the poultry yard. The hen, stealing to her nest, deposits her eggs, and then comes forth with an obstreperous cackle, to tell everybody what she has been about.“Cut—cut—cadau cut—Lay an egg every dayAnd have to go barefoot!”The rooster—he that is “cock of the walk,” leads forth his body of hens, and when he finds a good fat grub, calls his favorites to come and feast on the delicate morsel. Like a polite old beau, heseems to prefer the happiness of the other sex to his own; his tones and manner are soft and insinuating, and he becomes the very personification of gallantry. While he is thus tender to the females of the flock, he is harsh and unsparing to his rivals of the masculine gender. If one of them comes near, he is sure to feel his spurs, and, after the rebuke, to hear the shrill triumphant crow of the conqueror.The turkey-cock struts round and round, grating the edges of his wings upon the ground, and displays his purple wattles, his crimson comb, and his black, bristly beard, to the admiring gaze of the tender, transcendental hens of his flock. The guinea-hen, creeping afar, amid some thicket, comes running home with a terrible cry, as if thieves, robbers and murderers were at hand! The peacock, situated upon some conspicuous mound, spreads out his tail, set with a thousand gorgeous gems, and, lost in admiration, appears to enjoy a sublime self-conceit. Amid all this exultation, the vulgar duck is dabbling in the mud, only deigning to utter his quack—quack—quack, at intervals, few and far between. At the same time, the silent and sentimental goose is swimming upon the bosom of the muddy pool, now and then plunging its long neck into the recesses of the element upon which it floats—happy if perchance some insect, lizard, or tadpole may reward its search.It is not to be supposed that these amusing scenes escaped the sharp observation of Inquisitive Jack. He indeed, noticed the peculiarities of the several kinds of poultry, and had many a long conversation upon the subject with his aunt Betsey. We can only note the substance of what she told him.The domestic fowls are the descendants of birds originally wild. The barn-door cock and hen came in the first place from Asia, and in some parts of India they are still to be met with, though their appearance is somewhat different from that of the tame breeds. The peacock came also from Asia, and the guinea-hen from Africa. The duck is but a tame mallard, a bird which is often shot along our coasts. The honest goose is descended from the wild gray bird, that is often seen in flocks, in spring time, high in air, and in the shape of a triangle, wending their way to the far north, where they may breed in solitude, peace and safety.The turkey is the only original bird of America among our poultry. It was found in the forests, when the Europeans first visited this continent. It is less changed by domestication than any other bird. If you were to see it in the wilds of the west, where flocks of it are still common, you would think it only a truant turkey which had strayed from the barn-yard. It is a strutting, vain, cowardly bird, though it is very good eating. The French call itdinde, and hence our worddandy, which means a vain, cowardly coxcomb.Promotion from the ranks.—Seventeen private soldiers of the French army, in Bonaparte’s time, by their bravery and talents raised themselves to the following distinguished stations; two became kings; two, princes; nine, dukes; two, field-marshals; and two generals.
Girl feeding poultry
CHAPTER III.
The poultry yard.
Ishallnot undertake to tell the whole history of the old hen and chickens, whose story is begun in the preceding chapter. If any of my readers meet with Jack, who is now a man, they can ask him, and he will tell them how the greater part of the brood grew up to be pullets or cockerels, and made a considerable noise in the world. He will tell them how the former at last became old hens, and laid eggs, and cackled like their ancestors; and how the latter, after many funny trials, learned to crow, and finally to fight, as their fathers and grandfathers had done before them. I must tell you, myself, what Jack said to his aunt about this fighting.
He had watched the chickens with a great deal of care, and he was greatly diverted to see the little roosters, as soon as they had little bits of red combs on their heads, try to crow and fight. They really seemed like some smart boys we have seen, at the age of sixteen or seventeen, trying to smoke cigars, or drink wine, or some other liquor, and appearing very ridiculous, while they fancied that they were exciting the envy and admiration of all around them, inasmuch as they were imitating the deeds of those older than themselves.
Jack laughed heartily at the ambitious efforts of the cockerels, as well in boasting as in battle—until, one day, he saw two of them fight till their heads were bloody, and one of them had his eyes picked out. This shocked himgreatly, and his heart being grieved, he went to tell what had happened to his aunt. She tried to comfort him as well as she could, but, at last, he spoke to her as follows: “You told me, aunt Betsey, that these creatures were governed by instinct, and that this instinct was implanted by God. You said that the obedience of the chickens to their parent was of this nature, and furnished a good example to children. Now, I wish to ask if the fighting of the cockerels is not implanted by God, and therefore a good example to children?”
Aunt Betsey smiled at the shrewdness of this question, and seeing that it was asked in earnest, and not scoffingly, by Jack, she replied seriously in these words: “I do not suppose, Jack, that instinct is the only guide of animals. It is their guide when young, but when they are older and know how to take care of themselves, then I suppose that in many things they act freely and from their own sense and judgment. When you were an infant you were guided by instinct, but now that you are older, you act freely, according to your choice. You may fight, or you may be peaceful, just as you please. Having arrived at this period, you are responsible for your conduct, for it has pleased God to make you free. It is just so, I think, with these young cockerels; they may fight, or let it alone. If they fight and get bloody noses, they only are to blame. And if they do fight, it is no example for us. God has given human beings a law of peace, and this should be their rule. Dr. Watts has said,
‘Let dogs delightTo bark and biteFor God hath made them so—Let bears and lionsGrowl and fight,For ’tis their nature too.’
‘Let dogs delightTo bark and biteFor God hath made them so—Let bears and lionsGrowl and fight,For ’tis their nature too.’
‘Let dogs delight
To bark and bite
For God hath made them so—
Let bears and lions
Growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature too.’
“But it is quite otherwise with human beings; even if brute animals are left to tear each other in pieces, mankind are taught that peace, kindness and harmony are not only the duty, but the happiness of the human race.”
From observing the hen and her chickens, Jack’s attention was drawn to the other inhabitants of the poultry yard. The strutting turkey, the hissing, gobbling goose, the waddling duck, the screaming guinea-hen, and the fantastic peacock, each in turn became the subject of his investigation, and each seemed to him to have a character and interest peculiar to itself. If I had the power faithfully to paint all his feelings, and space to detail all his thoughts, I could make the story entertaining, but I must content myself with a very general account of the matter.
I believe there are very few persons who have not been often amused in pausing for a half hour and noticing the various airs, manners and customs, of the feathered inhabitants of the poultry yard. The hen, stealing to her nest, deposits her eggs, and then comes forth with an obstreperous cackle, to tell everybody what she has been about.
“Cut—cut—cadau cut—Lay an egg every dayAnd have to go barefoot!”
“Cut—cut—cadau cut—Lay an egg every dayAnd have to go barefoot!”
“Cut—cut—cadau cut—
Lay an egg every day
And have to go barefoot!”
The rooster—he that is “cock of the walk,” leads forth his body of hens, and when he finds a good fat grub, calls his favorites to come and feast on the delicate morsel. Like a polite old beau, heseems to prefer the happiness of the other sex to his own; his tones and manner are soft and insinuating, and he becomes the very personification of gallantry. While he is thus tender to the females of the flock, he is harsh and unsparing to his rivals of the masculine gender. If one of them comes near, he is sure to feel his spurs, and, after the rebuke, to hear the shrill triumphant crow of the conqueror.
The turkey-cock struts round and round, grating the edges of his wings upon the ground, and displays his purple wattles, his crimson comb, and his black, bristly beard, to the admiring gaze of the tender, transcendental hens of his flock. The guinea-hen, creeping afar, amid some thicket, comes running home with a terrible cry, as if thieves, robbers and murderers were at hand! The peacock, situated upon some conspicuous mound, spreads out his tail, set with a thousand gorgeous gems, and, lost in admiration, appears to enjoy a sublime self-conceit. Amid all this exultation, the vulgar duck is dabbling in the mud, only deigning to utter his quack—quack—quack, at intervals, few and far between. At the same time, the silent and sentimental goose is swimming upon the bosom of the muddy pool, now and then plunging its long neck into the recesses of the element upon which it floats—happy if perchance some insect, lizard, or tadpole may reward its search.
It is not to be supposed that these amusing scenes escaped the sharp observation of Inquisitive Jack. He indeed, noticed the peculiarities of the several kinds of poultry, and had many a long conversation upon the subject with his aunt Betsey. We can only note the substance of what she told him.
The domestic fowls are the descendants of birds originally wild. The barn-door cock and hen came in the first place from Asia, and in some parts of India they are still to be met with, though their appearance is somewhat different from that of the tame breeds. The peacock came also from Asia, and the guinea-hen from Africa. The duck is but a tame mallard, a bird which is often shot along our coasts. The honest goose is descended from the wild gray bird, that is often seen in flocks, in spring time, high in air, and in the shape of a triangle, wending their way to the far north, where they may breed in solitude, peace and safety.
The turkey is the only original bird of America among our poultry. It was found in the forests, when the Europeans first visited this continent. It is less changed by domestication than any other bird. If you were to see it in the wilds of the west, where flocks of it are still common, you would think it only a truant turkey which had strayed from the barn-yard. It is a strutting, vain, cowardly bird, though it is very good eating. The French call itdinde, and hence our worddandy, which means a vain, cowardly coxcomb.
Promotion from the ranks.—Seventeen private soldiers of the French army, in Bonaparte’s time, by their bravery and talents raised themselves to the following distinguished stations; two became kings; two, princes; nine, dukes; two, field-marshals; and two generals.