December !>6, 1887. 1 



JOURNAL OF HOBTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENEB, 



487 



said Mr. Weston, " for night is coming on, and in tlic morning 

 you can sort tliem ut jour leisure." 



So tlie hamper.^ \7ere opened, and out flow the birds, more 

 than a score of them, "and never a pullet among thcra," said 

 the matronly muse as she stood Ly. They were a mixture and 

 intermixture of many kinds. There were heavy Dorkings, und 

 light graceful Haniburghs, and Game of such sclendid form 

 and plumage aR to have satisfied even a "Newmaiiiiet." There 

 were birds with large rosy combs, and others with no combs at 

 all ; huge clumsy Cochins, trailing their unsightly leg-feathers 

 in the dirt ; and one melancholy Spanii-h, all aloue in its black 

 coat, eyed with disgust some Light lirahmns. 



"Are they not fine, Frank'"' iuijuircd Mrs. Weston. 

 " They are of all nations, yet not of all ages. I do not be- 

 lieve you have a young one among them." 

 " They assured me they were all young." 

 " That Cochin is as old as Methuselah, just look at its spurs. 

 You have spent your money badly. More than half your fowls 

 are of the non-layiug kind, so you will not be troubled with 

 many eggs. And, then, I would have confined myself to one 

 or two kinds of nearly equal weight ; that little liolton Grey 

 will be trodden to death before night, or if it be not, it will go off 

 into the woods to-morrow, and never come back ; and those 

 slow, lazy Brnhmas will be very easy game for the fox," 

 " The Brahmas will sit, so 1 can have chickens." 

 Poor Mrs. Weston became alarmed as week after week passed, 

 and there were no eggs ; she could not understand it ; she had 

 been wont to think, like many others, that poultry-keeping was 

 all prolit, that eggs cost nothing. The amount of bariey and 

 meal her large family consumed, was really frightful, and far 

 into April there was no return ; sho began to be afraid lest 

 they were, as her husband laughingly asserted, all of the non- 

 laying kind, or that their ages were, indeed, so far "unknown" 

 as to render it highly improbable they should ever desire to 

 increase their numbers. Hour after hour did sho spend search- 

 ing for eggs, peering into every corner likely and uuliUely, 

 thrusting her hands into any hole there might chance to be in 

 the haystacks, for sho had heard say that hens often took a 

 fancy to lay there; and then, weary with her fruitless seeking, 

 she ■would comfort herself with the thought there would be a 

 great find some day, they must bo laying and were hiding theu' 

 eggs. 



And, then, to make matters worse, the cow fell sick, and the 

 hind came to ask what he should do, what sort of medicine he 

 should give her :> ilo did not think she ailed much, was only 

 pining after company, and strongly advised buying another 

 cow. " What, to keep the sick one company '/ That will never 

 do, Wilson," said Mrs. Weston, " we have had very little good 

 of her yet. I must have some return for my money before I 

 venture on future speculations. Do the best you can for her, 

 or even send for a doctor, but no more cow buying." 



Then the pigs would not eat, and Martha said something was 

 wrong, they ought to eat all up before they had any more given, 

 and their trough was never empty, and could not be scalded 

 out without making great waste, so the poor pigs were put 

 npon a short allowance, and a few days afterwards one was 

 found dead by the side of its empty trough. Wilson said, 

 " pined to death." 



Putting all things, the loss of money, the extra work, and the 

 worry together, Mrs. Weston began to wibh she had left farming 

 to those who understood it. 



The geese, too, caused great anxiety, though they had hatched 

 their eggs without more loss than usually occurs in a strange 

 place. Yot they had taken to a wandering life, and roamed 

 through the wood two miles away, to a pond deeper than the 

 one set apart for their use, and as there was no certainty of 

 their return, Wilson had his work to leave, often the feeding 

 of the pigs, or the milking of the cow, to drive homo the 

 vagrants. 



Then, the ducks, Martha said, had eaten their heads off times 

 without number, they were the biggest gluttons she ever saw. 

 Three meals a-day they would have, or there was no peace. Up 

 they came from the water to the kitchen-door, quack-ijuaeking, 

 with their dreadful noise, loud enough to wake the seven 

 sleepers. Cook said it " was awful, just as though they were 

 gnawing her," and their loud voices were never hushed until the 

 oats in the bin were lessened, and that in no small degree. The 

 ducks had been layiug for some time before the important 

 event was known, but from choice, or the want of a suit- 

 able nest, or from having been allowed to go out too early in 

 the morning, they dropped their eggs in the long grass, or d-j- 

 poaited them in the soft mad at the side of the pond. Heavy 



rain swelling, the waters carried half the eggs away, and those 

 left wore spoiled for every purpose. 



One more folly Mr. Weston said his wife committed. Fear- 

 ing that the green peas would be ready for use, and no young 

 ducks to bo had at her new farm, she invested 10s. in the same 

 number of month-old ducklings. They were taken great care 

 of, had an iuclosure of their own free from danger ; but one 

 unlucky morning the gate was left open, and unobserved they 

 made their escape. Away they went picking up worms and 

 slugs, never pausing in their journey, until they reached the 

 gleaming waters of a pond, bright beneath the June sun, and 

 where three liouen Ducks were bathing their metallic feathers. 

 A low twitter of delight, and in went the young ducks. The 

 Koueus had held the pond in their sole posEefsion for many 

 weeks, and would have no intruders, so a dreadful attack was 

 made upon the little ones ; they were dragged under the water 

 and held there until drowned. Four of them were saved by the 

 man who chanced to be near at the lime, and though they grew 

 U|), and were heavy and fat, they w ere dear ducks at the best. 



But by this time, the hens had commenced laying, and tho 

 egg-basket, if not very heavy, at least supplied home needs. 

 After a time chickens were hatched, and then excitement 

 seemed to culminate, for Mrs. Weston left her dinner to have 

 the chickens brought into the house to have their bills dipped 

 in water, otherwise they would not know how to eat, and so 

 could not live. Tho young birds were very easily taken from 

 theii- much too quiet Brahma mother, who, if she grieved for 

 their loss, soon found consolation in a new nest fuller of eggs 

 than her own had been. A Silver-pencilled Hamburgh, too, 

 seeking a safe place to deposit her daily treasure, found a warm, 

 soft nest, and cooing over it nestled down with delight ; a 

 minute afterwards she was roughly seized by a servant-maid, 

 who rushed with her into the house, e:;claimiag " This must 

 be the right one ma'am, for there is no other on the nest," and 

 the little Bolton Grey was put, to her great astonishment, upon 

 the kitchen hearth, to mother ten real barndoor chickens ; but 

 tho hen had no liking for the duties of a foster mother, no 

 materual cares over ruffled her silky feathers, or troubled the 

 peace of her long laying season ; so with a rush and a loud 

 scream she made good her escape to the open air and sunshine. 

 Out went the maid again to search for the real mother, followed 

 by her mistress ; though they searched for hours, the hen could 

 not be found, and the chickens had to be put into a hamper 

 kept by the kitchen fire, and fed with little tiny bits, and made 

 to drink three or four times a-day, whether they wished to do 

 so or no. Now and then they fared only indilierently, when 

 domestic cares accumulated. Their life was not the best even 

 of its kind, Martha said, " There was one comfort, it could not 

 be a long one." Neither was it, for they missed, what to them 

 was more than food — air, space, and sunshine. Mrs. Weston 

 seldom returned from a few days' absence, without finding one 

 or more of her chickens dead, and the few who existed through 

 their hamper life, were puny, and dwarfed, and spiritless; 

 easily driven away by younger, though stronger chickens. 

 Many more broods there were during the season, but the young 

 birds were never again stolen from the nest, for no one at the 

 new farm wished to repeat the experiment of rearing chickens 

 without a mother. So Nature was left to work her own way, if 

 not much aided, not hindered in her progress. 



When autumn was far advanced, Mrs. Weston sat down in 

 the bitterness of a, to her, heavy loss, to look over her books, 

 to count up expenditure and return. It was not so much the 

 loss of money as of success, the failure of a plan on which she 

 had fixed her mind, and into which .she had entered without 

 thought, and without experience, and without that natmal 

 taste which often supplies the place of experience. Iler cow 

 had died dming tho summer, though not of rinderpest. They 

 had heard its meanings all through the night, and Wilson had 

 sat up with it, but though a good nurse he could not save it. 

 His own idea was, it died louging for company. The one pig 

 also was little over the weight of tho two at the time of purchase, 

 and could make no appearance at Christmas time. Her geese 

 had not flown away over tho wood, but they had wandered 

 through it, a nuisance to their neighbours up at the Hall. And 

 then, too, they had attained a certain size and weight beyond 

 which they woiUd not go, and at which they would not remain, bat 

 grew less and lighter as tho weeks passed, until in despair they 

 were disposed of at a loss. Then the ducks had been of no nee, 

 save that of ornaaenting tho pond in which they spent most of 

 their time, certainly of no profit, for the few e,7gs saved from 

 their carelessness would nut cover the loss of the young duck- 

 lings whose death they had caused. The ponltrr, too, which 



