-4- 



OF THE JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE. 



31 



" There, Miss Ada look ! Golden Chickens from Golden 

 Eqgs ; M'liy, their little beaks arc as yelluw as sowrigiis." 

 Tiic hen was soon pnl into n eoop, and the coop into the 

 kitehen, for the \\oatlier was cold, and the mother and 

 chickens fed lirst with chopped e;;i,', then hread crumbs and 

 whole grits. Ada loved to watch the little golden noses 

 peeping from ont the hen's l)reast .and \\ ings. The chickens 

 grew and prospered famously; but the little cockerels, alas ! 

 — for truth must be told — ^\llen they grei\' hobbedehoys, 

 fought each other, and got bloody noses ; but except for 

 these occasional battles all went on well. Ada was very 

 proud of her chickens, and showed tliem to everybody that 

 called. One day, by chance, a gcntleniiin learned in poultry 

 happeneil to call, .and he was taken to see the chickens; and 

 ho declared them to bo very good, indeed, and jiicked ont 

 the three best — .t cock and two pullets — and advised Ada 

 to send them to the poultry show which would ho in the 

 town in a lew months. The time came, and after due in- 

 quiry, tlie birds being now grown to their full size, though 

 that was a very small size, it was determined by papa, that 

 they should be sent to the show. Cook washed them gently ; 

 then ]iut them in some clean straw in a basket, and set 

 them before the fire to dry ; and then put thenv into a 

 small hamper — a round one it was, so as not to spoil the 

 cock's tail. And cook almost blessed them — .at least she blessed 

 herself — and declared them to be " beauties." The next day 

 the pony carriage was at the door at one o'clock, and papa 

 mamma, and Ada soon got in and drove — it was rather a 

 long dri^•e, to where the show was held. Tliey found the 

 church bells ringing, and everybody in their best clothes, 

 while crowds were entering a gate leading into a field ; at 

 the gate stood two solemn-looking policemen. Ada entered 

 ■with the rest, and inside the field it was like a fair. A 

 military band was playing, led by a fearfully-excited man, 

 who seemed to threaten all near with his black stick. Ada 

 passed the fat pigs, and declared them to he " ugly things." 

 She passed fat cattle, and said they were " too fat." She came 

 to the flower tent and was pleased enough, but kept ])ulling 

 her papa's hand towards a tent from which canre the sound of 

 crowing — crowing. There must be some cocks there. Most of 

 them said, as all proper cocks since Adam's time, " Cock-a- 

 doodle-do," while some great Cochins and Brahmas seemed 

 to have started a new fashion (" Just like npstarts," said old 

 Mr. Dorking) and said " Cock-a-doodlc-don't." 



There were such a number of jicns in the tent, such queer- 

 looking fowls in some of them, thought Ada ; but her eyes 

 all the while wandered about to see her pets, and whether 

 they had jilenty of food and water, but she could not see into 

 the uppermost row of pens. She felt a strong pair of arms 

 raise her from the ground — they were her papa's, — and look- 

 ing straight before lier, there were her own dear bantams. 



" Well, they have plenty to eat and drink, papa — how nice ! 

 hut what means that card nailed on the top of the pen ? " 



Her papa put up Ins eye-glass — ho was rather short-sighted 

 — and exclaimed : " Well, I declare, Ada, you have got first 

 prize ; there must bo a mistake." But on referring to the 

 catalogue, there was no mistake, for it was printed — " Game 

 Bantams, black-breasted reds. — 1st prize, Miss Ada Seymour." 

 And as to the card, why it was as big as one of Ada's school- 

 books. There w.as no mistake, for the secretary — a grave- 

 looking man who seldom made a mistake— handed Ada a 

 bright gold sovereign. " Why, pa|ia, cook 's right," cried the 

 delighted Ada ; " my hen does lay Golden EggsT But that was 

 not all : next d.ay came a large letter, 'very business-like 

 looking, directed "Miss Ada Seymour," in a bold hand. 

 " That's about Ada's bantams," said her papa. " I dare say 

 it was all a mistake ; the child's could not be so very good." 

 But papa was wrong j it was indeed about the bantams, 

 but it was to offer three sovereigns for the hen exhibited at the 

 show ; and a few days after the clerk at the post-office handed 

 Ada three sovereigns on her signing the order. " Well, 

 cook was right," said the child, looking at the tin-ee yellow 

 coins in her hand ; " my bantam does indeed lay Golden Eggs. 

 But may I give her one for her poor mother, who is ill?" 

 " Certainly, child," said her mamma. And that made Ada 

 all the happier. And so ends my tale of '■ The Bantam that 

 ■^Md Golden Eggs." 



* * * .s 



As f^Q lady's voice ceased, Cyril cried out, "Capital! 



jolly! but how I should have liked to have thrashed that 

 Buttons." rjttlc Lucy said, "How nice; and what do yon 

 think of it, papa?" But papa had kept Jilaving slower and 

 slower with the nut-crackers till they lay extended, very help- 

 less-looking, on his knee, and he was very quiet. "Why, 

 papa, you arc asleep," they both cried. " No, no ; I heard it 

 all," said he, starting. " I was thinking about Lord Kusscll's 

 last letter to 1VL-. Adams." " Papa," said Lucy, " I'll prove 

 it. Now tell mo all that the tale was about." But papa 

 declined to be examined, so I fear he was a little asleei>. 



Now, Lucys and Gertrudes, and Cyrils and Harrys, and 

 all of yon, if you have a fancy to keep bantams that will lay 

 golden eggs, and want to know how to manage them, and 

 you do not know how to contrive it, write to tlie office where 

 thi.s is printed— if you write in large hand between^ lines, 

 never mind — .and the Editors will answer you in print, in 

 next week's Journal— or perhaps I slunild. And now believe 

 me to remain (I wish I could kiss Lncy) your afitctionato old 

 friend, 



WiLTSHiEE Rector. 



THE CHAPLAIN'S CHRISTMAS HOMILY. 



GENTLEMAN, among 

 other bequests, left his son 

 ''ttJ a ring, and desired that he 

 would have engraved upon it 

 the word " TniNK." He laid 

 also upon him a further com- 

 mand — viz., that he would 

 r5 always wear the ring. The father 

 showed much wisdom in this 

 matter ; he wished to do good, to 

 -.. have a salutary influence over his 

 MJ child when he himself was dead 

 ' and gone, and we can scarcely 

 doubt but that he succeeded in his 

 wish. Thus, was the son in after 

 years temi)ted to speak rashly, his 

 eyes would fall upon the ring on 

 his finger, he would read the word 

 "Think," and he would remember 

 by whose wish the ring and its 

 motto were placed on his hand ; 



and, perhaps, instead of speaking 



r.ashly, " unadvisedly with his lips," he would be silent. 

 Ag.ain, was his hand about to be clenched in anger to strike 

 another, the inscription on the ring would, most probably, 

 clieck the blow. But doubtless the ring had other uses ; thus, 

 was the wearer .about to commit himself, witliout due con- 

 sideration, to a certain line of conduct, the ring would bid 

 him "think" first, or "think" more. 



Now, let me give you the word " think" as a motto at this 

 time— this Christmas time— and with Christmas almost the 

 end of another year. Let me endeavour to bind the word 

 " thinic " upon your memories. 



A sober word at tlie conclusion of this, our " Christmas 

 number," can scarcely be deemed out of place by any one. 

 Christmas brings with it various feelings : to the child, sim])ly 

 joy ; to the grown man, thankfulness, and, I hope, cheerful- 

 ness too; he is cheerful because he is th.ankful. But in a 

 certain higher sense — I mean not now in a religions sense — 

 it makes us thoughtful. Not only thoughtful wlule remem- 

 bering other Christmas times, perhaps h.aiipier, or in calling 

 up before the mind's eye faces not now to be seen around the 

 Christmas hearth, faces 



" Which we have loved long since, and lost aichile." 

 But Christmas also makes us thoughtful without the dash ' 

 of melancholy which is thrown across such recollections ; 

 here is a musing which is not sad, a musing which becomes 

 a man, and which is neither romantic nor foolish. 



We grown folks shall h.ave to ourselves some quiet, lonely 

 hour this Christmastide when, good reader, there will come 

 over you 



" A feeling of sadness and longing. 

 That is not akin to pain. 

 And resembles sorrow only. 

 As the mist resembles the rain." 



