wars and quarrels among themselves, not less
than their friendships and strict associations.

A curious spirit of temper which I have
observed in a poultry young gentleman, is his
disposition to revenge on a still younger young
gentleman, the peck administered to himself
by the old gentleman. Hens also, beaten in a
struggle for food by stronger hens, savagely
pass on the injury to the weaker.

Be not out of sorts with my poultry, when
perforce admit that cruelty is a part of the
gallinaceous character. Why be shocked? Planets
err not in their course. Men and poultry have
the liberty of going wrong. Towards the sick
and ailing of their tribe, fowls are particularly
vicious. They persecute them, and will kill
them if they can. Even a hen-mother will
conceive an aversion for the weaklings of her brood,
and will take an early opportunity of setting her
broad foot upon them, or giving them a sly and
fatal peck. So far, this cruelty seems to have a
motive. Savages get rid of their deformed or
sickly children, because they are not worth their
keep; and fowls probably think invalids inconsistent
with the welfare of the community. I believe
a sick sailor is not popular in the forecastle.

But a cruelty less defensible, also exists in
poultry. I was given a pair of tame red-
partridges, who, having been bred up in a poultry-
yard, were supposed to be generally associable
with fowls—pretty creatures, who, with uncut
wings, never tried to fly further than up to the
window-sill for crumbs—harmless creatures, who
tried to curry favour with my fowls. In vain!
My fowls conceived a grudge against them, and
seemed particularly aggrieved by their faculty of
flying to the window-sill. The end was sad.
My poultry attacked the poor little pair, and so
beat them about the head and eyes that it was a
mercy to put them out of their misery. But
then (to suggest an excuse) the red-partridges
were not brought up with my fowls. The same
set took prodigiously to a rabbit, which, when
quite little, was placed among them. They
petted it, and allowed it to take the pick of the
food, and to have precedence in feeding. It
used to jump into the shallow tub in which the
meal was mixed, and sit there, gormandising,
while the fowls stood waiting respectfully
around. But, more curiously, the rabbit took
the ways of a fowl. At night it wanted to perch,
and, contrary to its burrowing nature, made
desperate efforts to mount. It had wondrous
agility in climbing to a beam, and thence to an
unused horse-crib. At last, for reasons of
cleanliness, I found it better to construct a sort of
dovecote for it, raised high upon a pole in the
centre of the fowls, with a ladder like the fowls'
ladder to go up. To this sleeping-place he
cottoned forthwith, and roosted there as long as
I kept him. But ill-assorted associations must
come to an end. The rabbit, as if he wished to
make the fowls look more like himself, took to
gnawing their tails off (which they stood still to
let him do, with the greatest equanimity), and
so disfigured the whole set, that I was obliged
to give him away to a neighbouring farmeress.

Cats and dogs grow into great friendship with
fowls. At the old Eccaleobion I saw, years ago,
two cats who had been trained to bring up the
chickens which were hatched in the establishment.
I saw one of the cats lie down in such a
position as to let the chickens creep under her;
and she brooded over them, and was, as the man
of the exhibition said, "a wery mother unto
'em." I see almost every day, as I pass a neighbour's,
a young fowl sleeping almost between the
paws of a large dog. My dwarf bantam, of the
familiar habits, has entered into an alliance with
a big black cat which kills the rats in the loft over
where bantam sleeps; and he calls pussy to eat a
piece of bread, as if pussy were of his own species.

As a rule, too human to be agreeable, the
fowls live best with self-asserting creatures that
can hold their own, and will not be bullied.

Fowls have plenty of vanity and pride. They
are very sensible to admiration from man, and
miss accustomed notice. A prize bird knows
itself. The queen of the poultry-yard must eat
first, and stand by the king at feeding-time. She
resists any invasion upon her rights, and will
have a precedence in all things. Indeed, precedence
in the court-yard seems as valued as at
earthly courts. Age and priority of residence
in the yard, not less than size and strength,
constitute rights to precedence. No dowager ever
treated young chits of girls more contemptuously
than the senior hen treats her juniors. One
has heard of a Swiss cow which died of vexation
when her bell was taken from her. So did a
hen of mine, long mistress of the poultry-yard,
die of smothered pride, when a new queen-hen,
partner to a new king (a pair I bought at a
poultry show), came into my enclosure. The
rival queens eyed each other for a moment
steadfastly, then rushed to combat. The new comer,
though the old hen fought bravely, was the
stronger. Mrs. Mercury, as we called the old
hen, from the wing-like feathering on her legs,
never attempted to try her chance again,
succumbed in a melancholy manner, and, after a
few days' moping, gave up the ghost.

I have spoken of the teachability of fowls.
It is not a contradiction to assert that,
notwithstanding their docility upon conviction, they
have an obstinacy of unconviction. Of all
obstinacies, commend me to the obstinacy of
poultry. When a refractory hen has chosen a
particular nest for laying, she will, if shut out
of it, retain her egg for hours. A hen of mine,
accidentally shut out of the fowl-house where
she was accustomed to lay, was nearly killed by
such retention. There is always a favourite
nest where many fowls choose to lay; and
though the heat of so many bodies upon the
eggs spoils them for eating, you cannot hinder
the congregation of layers. Sometimes one
may see a long queue of hens, waiting, like
people before a theatre door in Paris, till they
can get to the favourite occupied nest.
Sometimes, two or more fowls are in the nest at
once. If they are agreed associates, all goes
well, but if they are not, woe to the egg, or eggs,
over which they skirmish.