Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

it shivers to its green coronal with the strokes, and it comes down with the rushing of a great banner, and the roaring of a great gun, one would almost think the blue air must retain the form that had filled it so beautifully and long; that its semblance in aerial outline should not pass for ever away. But when I think it is not so,

[ocr errors]

a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist;

"A feeling of sadness and longing
That is not akin to pain,

But resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain."

Hendom.

DON'T be alarmed, unless you are a mouse, or a chicken, or some such tit-bit. I've turned OWL ;Minerva's bird-I've made a descent upon the Henroost; I've pounced upon an idea, such as it is; an idea in feathers.

A Hen is a foolish thing-hasn't a grain of sense, for that's a grain not found in gizzards. Her head is pierced exactly through the middle for a couple of

eyes, and a small head at that, so there is no room for sense. As for the eyes, they must be excellent optical instruments, for she can discover" a hawk" where we couldn't distinguish it from a handsaw;"

66

but then they have about the expression of a brace of brass buttons at a shilling a gross. There isn't much poetry about Hens; there isn't much romance in Hendom. Hens are speckled, grizzled, and gray; white, copper-colored, and blue—all blue in "the Jerseys;" there are the old-fashioned hens and the Bantams; those heavenly hens, the Shanghais and Cochin Chinas; hens with no tails, short tails, and pretty much all tails; hens in feathered pantaloons-whew! and June too!-and hens with Camwood-colored pantalettes-the very kind for the table; hens with Hussar-caps; hens with huge back-combs, like our Grandmothers; hens with very delicate side-combs, like our Sweethearts.

The grand "Movement" in feminine humanity is by no means endemic, inasmuch as 'strong-minded' hens are far from being anomalies now-a-days. They quarrel, and crow, and act, as near as possible, like veritable Chanticleers; shouldn't be surprised to see a Bantam out in Bloomer any morning; some of them wear spurs already. Progressive Hens! Apropos

of spurs ; 1 have an interest in, that is, am part owner of-sole estate, real and personal-a magnificent Cochin China Cock. He is not knighted yet; he wants the spurs; but he'll make a sensation when he gets them, and sign himself "F. M."-Field-Marshal the Cochin China, with as good a grace, and as much of it withal, as the "Iron Duke." He has a voice already that would be music to THOR, the Saxon Thunderer; and he crows, but "not an ultra" crow; in fact, a "judicious, discriminating" crow, when there are no veteran rivals of the old school in the field. Never mind; he is rehearsing for "sharp practice" one of those days.

Socrates we read-requested, among the last things, that a Cock might be sacrificed to Esculapius"confirmation strong" that it was no Cochin China, else, what a sacrifice!

Hens are like folks; look, act, and talk like folksthat is, a great many folks-that you and I know. There's one now, with precisely two feathers in her tail, by actual inventory; and the two stick directly up, like a couple of oars in a fishing smack. She's a fussy little body, and goes clucking around with one chicken about the size of a wren, quite unconscious of the figure she cuts, and the ridicule she provokes,

wherever she goes.

Who doesn't know some body as

like her" as two peas?" She's every where, in every thing; has " a word in season," and out, and for that matter the outs' have it. Nothing going on, that she isn't there, and hasn't something to say, with her short steps but a great many of them. Only glance at that wonderful chicken of hers, and she's all of a clutter; ruffles her feathers, and looks so she thinks-very formidable. She is too tough to eat, or she would have been guillotined long ago.

That gray individual is older than "MACK," and he's a dozen; the Meg Merrilies of the Roost. Quite a Malte Brun is she in her way, for what she does not know about the Geography of Corn-cribs, Cornfields, Cherry trees, Melon patches, and rare picking generally, isn't worth knowing. Posted in all that pertains to nestling, scratching, and roosting places, she unites in her venerable self-the Mrs. Partington and the Paul Pry of Hendom. Not a brood of chickens does some more favored sister lead triumphantly off, but she sets up an apology for a cluck, spreads her tail, puts on an extra frill, and, looking as matronly as possible-who would think it?-lays claim to half the chickens-the only thing, by the by, she can lay. Having outlived her youthful weaknesses, she has

utterly forgotten she ever was a pullet, and is very severe upon every little indiscretion among the poultry. Her age is her protection, and she makes the most of her privilege, grows garrulous precisely as she grows foolish, and is as captious and consequential as an old Dowager.

Longer Biographies of "bipeds without feathers," have been manufactured out of less material than the adventures of this venerable PARTLET would supply. In her youth, an accident, or, to be briefer, an axe, deprived her of her toes; and then, just to think of it! what perils by club and stone, and mop and broom, she has encountered; what imminent danger from hungry hawks she has escaped; what weasels have poached her innocent eggs! Nearly abducted by Reynard; quite looked out of countenance by an Owl; half frozen "that cold winter;" almost drowned in the wash-tub; and what a family she has reared in her day, that were all "wel to do," until they were well done. What themes for pathos and patriotism; what opportunities for ode and episode would these incidents furnish!

It rains this morning, and half a score of cocks in red and yellow uniform, stand in the corners of the fences, under the wagon, or the lee of an old plough,

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »