t
bear so poor a name, a word so unsuitable for poetry; it is lamentable
that one has to take refuge in the archaism of _kine_, when the thing
itself is so gentle and pleasant.

But the true joy of the farm-yard is, undoubtedly, in the domestic
fowls. It is long since I was frightened of turkeys; but I confess
that there is still something awe-inspiring about an old turkey-cock,
with a proud and angry eye, holding his breath till his wattles are
blue and swollen, with his fan extended, like a galleon in full sail,
his wings held stiffly down, strutting a few rapid steps, and then
slowly revolving, like a king in royal robes. There is something
tremendous about his supremacy, his almost intolerable pride and glory.

And then we come to cocks and hens. The farm-yard cock is an
incredibly grotesque creature. His furious eye, his blood-red crest,
make him look as if he were seeking whom he might devour. But he is
the most craven of creatures. In spite of his air of just anger, he
has no dignity whatever. To hear him raise his voice, you would think
that he was challenging the whole world to combat. He screams
defiance, and when he has done, he looks round with an air of
satisfaction. "There! that is what you have to expect if you interfere
with me!" he seems to say. But an alarm is given; the poultry seek
refuge in a hurried flight. Where is the champion? You would expect
to see him guarding the rear, menacing his pursuer; but no, he has
headed the flight, he is far away, leading the van with a desperate
intentness.

This morning I was watching the behaviour of a party of fowls, who were
sitting together on a dusty ledge above the road, sheltering from the
wind. I do not know whether they meant to be as humorous as they were,
but I can hardly think they were not amused at each other. They stood
and lay very close together, with fierce glances, and quick, jerky
motions of the head. Now and then one, tired of inaction, raised a
deliberate claw, bowed its head, scratched with incredible rapidity,
shook its tumbled feathers, and looked round with angry
self-consciousness, as though to say: "I will ask any one to think me
absurd at his peril." Now and then one of them kicked diligently at
the soil, and then, turning round, scrutinised the place intently, and
picked delicately at some minute object. One examined the neck of her
neighbour with a fixed stare, and then pecked the spot sharply. One
settled down