The big gobbler looked down upon him at first in contemptuous astonishment, as much as to say, “What fooling is this?” But when he saw that the fiery little fellow was in earnest, he just struck him one blow with his terrible wing, and—well, the gallant Bantam went “on his raids no more.” He was served as another savage Turkey served poor Crete. This is a world of tragedies and downfalls.
On a late visit to the Central Park, we noticed, among the collection of fowls there, a Bantam cock, of the very smallest pattern, that yet seemed to have a big, gallant heart. We saw him in one of his soft moments, when, in fact, he was making love. He had been very ambitious in selecting the object of his adoration, for he was actually paying his addresses to a full-sized Shanghai hen, who was in a large cage, separated from him by a light lattice. He would strut up and down before her, ruffling his fine feathers, and making eyes at her. Sometimes he would dance up sideways, declaring his passion with a soft, musical murmur, that sounded like “coort, coort,” which it would seem she could hardly resist; but she did,—not so much as a feather on her breast was stirred by his appeal; she regarded him in placid disdain. Indeed, it was almost as funny to watch the tiny, strutting little creature making love to that superior fowl, as it would be to see Commodore Nutt courting Miss Swan, the giantess.
“So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of knight like the young Lochinvar?”
THE DISOWNED CHICKS.
I have a friend living in the very heart of the big city of Chicago, who owns several hens of rare varieties, and a flock of young chickens of remarkable promise. She keeps them in her back-yard, which they utterly devastate, not suffering a green thing to live, making it look like a small copy of the Desert of Sahara. Yet she says keeping them reminds her of the country! She is a very poetic and imaginative lady. It is very likely that a hand-organ reminds her of music, and fish-balls of the mighty, briny deep.
One of this good lady’s hens is a handsome, stately fowl, dressed in gray satin, and wearing a top-knot that is like a crown of silver. She has one chicken, almost full-grown,—the last of many lively children, the victims of rats and the pip. Of him she is very fond. There was, at one time, great danger that he would be spoiled,—for she toiled for him all day, trotting about everywhere with him “at her apron-strings,” so to speak; and she actually broods him at night, though, do the best she can in spreading herself, she can’t take in all of his tail, unless she lets his head stick out somewhere. Thus he is content to sleep ingloriously, when he ought to be roosting on some lofty perch, ready to greet the first streak of dawn with a brave crow, prophetic of the day.
A few weeks ago another hen, a young pullet, dressed gayly every day in gold and brown, with a gorgeous top-knot, came, one morning, triumphantly out from under the porch, with a large flock of charming little chicklings, who toddled along after her, and glanced up at the sky, and round on the earth,—that vast sandy plain of the back-yard,—in a most knowing and patronizing manner. Nobody would have guessed it was their first day out of the shell. They were not going to show their greenness,—not they.
For a while those downy, yellow, cunning little roly-poly creatures seemed to amuse their mother; she appeared fond of them, taking pleasure in parading them before such of her neighbors as were chickenless. But she was a giddy biddy, lazy and selfish; so, as soon as she found that she must scratch to fill so many little crops, she threw up maternity in disgust. She actually cast off her whole brood, pecked at them, and scolded them till they ran from her in fright, and huddled together in a corner of the fence, peeping piteously, and doubtless wishing they had never been hatched. Perhaps some were chicken-hearted enough to wish for death to end their troubles, till they caught sight of some ugly old rat prowling about “seeking whom he might devour,” when they reconsidered the matter, and took a more cheerful view of life.