390 MASSACHUSETTS AGRICULTURE. 



And again : — 



" The cock, that is the trumpet of the morn, 

 Doth with his lofty and shrill- sounding throat 

 Awake the god of day." — Hamlet. 



No, no ; the cock of English song, — 



" The cock that doth crow 

 To let you know, 

 If you are wise, 

 'Tis time to rise," — Old Primer, 



is the chap that Dryden describes, whose 



" Comb was high and coral red withal, 

 In dents embattled, like a castle wall ; 

 His bill was raven black, and shone like jet ; 

 Blue were his legs, andorient were his feet ; 

 White were his nails, like silver to behold ; 

 His body glittering like the burnished gold." 



We like to see a cock of that high tone and lofty bearing ; 

 and many such a one have we seen about the farm houses of 

 the county, strutting through the barn yard, uxoriously cluck- 

 ing, and calling to choice tidbits his whole harem of wives, 

 polygamous Turk as he is — feathering with drooping wing, 

 fondling over them as they coyly resist, and cooing about them 

 so daintily and proudly that his legs seem to scorn, in toto, 

 the dusty soil beneath his toes. 



The committee, in conclusion, earnestly recommend to the 

 farmers of the county to give greater heed to the improvement 

 of their poultry. The birds of the barn yard are a mixed-up 

 race ; and though, in some instances, large and handsome birds 

 may be found, such as those kept by Mr. Frost, of North An- 

 dover, yet too often they are small and inferior. Mr. Frost's 

 fowls are large and well proportioned-birds, the cocks being 

 particularly handsome; and this superiority has been attained 

 by care in the breeding and keeping of them. They are sup- 

 posed to be the native bird, improved by care in the manage- 

 ment; yet their size and color, and the complexion of the shell 

 of their eggs, seem to indicate the presence of foreign blood. 

 They are a good sample of what may be accomplished by the 

 right course of treatment. No fowls can thrive, nor do them- 



