THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 95 



ascertain that there had been a pile in the cross five years 

 previous to my having them from Shropshire ; so that 

 they held highly regular for twenty -one years, not only in 

 plumage, but in every desired requisite.' 



" It appears," continued Hargrave, "that, had this breeder 

 gone on in a deviation from the original colour, he would 

 have had spangles, as party-coloured fowls are called ; but, 

 by persevering afterwards in selecting the darkest-coloured 

 fowls, those in fact most resembling his original attachment, 

 or sort, he preserved not only their feather, but their con- 

 stitution, which is a great consideration with cockers. Xow 

 here we have an analogy between the florist and the cocker. 

 A run flower is one which has the inherent vice of chang- 

 ing colour, with little chance of regaining its primitive 

 and valuable brilliancy ; consequently it is discarded by 

 the florist, as spangled pullets would be by the cocker. 



" There are, also, independent of feather, some strange 

 circumstances, arising from the selection of the parentage 

 of game fowls, and these of the very same breed, one, in 

 fact, which has been proved to be good in blood, feather, 

 and heel. For example : cocks bred from a father and 

 daughter have run away, whereas those from a mother 

 and son have stood to be killed by inches. 



" Perhaps the best proof of the difficulties of training 

 cocks to fight, is to be found in the very few persons 

 who have excelled in this branch of their art. Who 

 would believe it possible that, although a feeder should 

 be able to get a pen of cocks fit to fight for two successive 

 days, he should not be able to have them fit to fight 

 on the third, and yet his competitor on the sod shall 

 be able to do so ? This, however, is a very common case. 

 In fact, the whole system of feeding cocks to fight, 

 reducing or increasing their weight, but still retaining the 

 highest pitch of condition and vigour, is one of consummate 

 art, and one with which that of training the race-horse 

 can bear no comparison as to the difficulty of it. Then, 

 again, what a true picture of life is a cockpit ! Depend 

 upon it, Frank Raby, you will never have seen human 

 nature fully and faithfully displayed in the rough, until 

 you shall have seen it in a cockpit, at such places as 

 Chester, Manchester in short, anywhere bordering on 

 the north. Amongst noblemen and gentlemen of the 

 highest character and respectability, and who have made 

 cocking their pursuit through life, you will see men of 



