One learns to be modest by living on a poultry farm, for there are constant expositions of the most deplorable vanity among the cocks.

We have a couple of pea-fowl who certainly are an addition to the landscape, as they step mincingly along the square of turf we dignify by the name of lawn.

The head of the house has a most languid and self-conscious strut, and his microscopic mind is fixed entirely on his splendid trailing tail.
If I could only master his language sufficiently to tell him how hideously ugly the back view of this gorgeous fan is, when he spreads it for the edification of the observer in front of him, he would of course retort that there is a "congregation side" to everything, but I should at least force him into a defence of his tail and a confession of its limitations.

This would be new and unpleasant, I fancy; and if it produced no perceptible effect upon his super-arrogant demeanour, I might remind him that he is likely to be used, eventually, for a feather duster, unless, indeed, the Heavens are superstitious and prefer to throw his tail away, rather than bring ill luck and the evil eye into the house.
{More pride of bearing, and less to be proud of: p43.jpg} The longer I study the cock, whether Black Spanish, White Leghorn, Dorking, or the common barnyard fowl, the more intimately I am acquainted with him, the less I am impressed with his character.

He has more pride of bearing, and less to be proud of, than any bird I know.