150 
BIRDS IN A VILLAGE. 
gliding. At four the cocks had it all to them- 
selves ; and, without counting the cockerels (not 
yet out of school), I could distinctly hear a dozen 
birds ; that is to say, they were near enough for 
me to listen to their music critically. The variety 
of sounds they emitted was very great, and, if 
cocks were selected for their vocal qualities, would 
have shown an astonishing difference in the 
musical tastes of their owners. A dozen doofs of 
as many different breeds, ranging from the boar- 
hound to the toy terrier, would not have shown 
greater dissimilarity in their forms than did these 
cocks in their voices. For the fowl, like the dog, 
has become an extremely variable creature in the 
domestic state, in voice no less than in size, form, 
colour, and other particulars. At one end of the 
scale there was the raucous bronchial strain pro- 
duced by the unwieldy Cochin. What a bird is 
that ! Nature, in obedience to man's behests, and 
smiling with secret satire over her work, has made 
it ponderous and ungraceful as a goose. The 
burnished red hackles, worn like a light mantle 
over the black doublet of the breast, the metallic 
dark green sickle-plumes arching over the tail, 
all the beautiful lines and rich colouring, have 
been absorbed into flesh and fat for gross feeders. 
For its colours have not been washed out, but in ; 
and with these have gone its liveliness and vigour, 
