the same as domestic chickens, neither the old nor young showing the least fear at my approach. They 
soon grew strong enough to get over the fence, and I turned them all out. 
I have known a number of instances where these birds, having been reared with the farm poultry, 
became completely domesticated. In one instance, nine beautiful full-grown ones, that had been 
hatched and cared for by a common hen, with some of her own chickens, had the liberty of all-out- 
doors, yet they remained constantly about the house and garden, seldom using their wings, and at 
the call to feed the poultry, they were the first to respond, and not until completely satisfied with the 
repast, was a chicken, turkey, or other fowl permitted by these pugnacious little fellows to intrude or 
take a crumb. A slight attempt was made to induce this brood to roost upon a perch, after the manner 
of their relatives, the chickens. The success was, however, only partial; their attachment to the old 
method was too great, or their feelings of security so much increased by placing themselves together in 
a circle with heads outward, as they naturally do at night, that only a compromise was effected. 
A board was placed in the chicken house five or six feet from the ground, and wide enough to 
admit the number to place themselves tail to tail in a circle. On this they always spent the night with 
the other fowls. I have no doubt, however, that the habit of sleeping on the ground could readily be 
changed to that of roosting on trees or other more secure places; as I instanced once in a bird reared 
with some chickens, which, after being instructed a few times, readily took the' perch by the side of his 
foster-mother, and seemed as much at home as any of the chickens which were now old enough to roost. 
Birds from the field, under certain circumstances, as fear or want of suitable selection of ground, 
will roost singly upon trees and other elevated places. This I have seen quite often in the case of the 
overflow of lands by high water, and when bewildered in an attempt to adopt city life. Every year, in 
the fall season, large coveys come into this city and are heard constantly whistling for each other, and 
may be seen running about the streets. These birds often roost on the house-tops, the tops of chimneys, 
and on the branches of the street trees, one, and sometimes two in a place, and continue the practice for 
weeks, or until they become destroyed or leave for the country. As they always get together on foot, 
it becomes almost impossible, when once scattered in a city, to find each other, and so long as one of 
their number remains absent and makes it known by the signal whistle, the other birds will remain and 
endeavor to make themselves heard; and in doing this, they again become dispersed and divided by 
houses, walls, and fences'; and thus day after day is occupied in these fruitless efforts to collect the 
family, each day lessening their number, until few, if any, reach the fields again. 
The social relations existing between Bob-White and the barn-yard fowl are generally very friendly. 
I have frequently found hens’ eggs and Quails’ eggs in one nest ; and have known a common hen 
and a Quail to deposit daily, each an egg in the same nest, until the complement was full, at the end 
of which the Quail submitted the incubation to her larger companion. The disposition of these birds is 
only moderately good. They are always amiable and gentle in their family relations, and rarely domi- 
neering or vindictive towards their friendly associates. They are cowardly towards their enemies; and 
while in coveys, seem to maintain a sense of security by keeping close together; and so strong is this 
feeling, that wounded birds, unable to fly, will follow after their companions on foot, as long as able 
to go. When paired, the two are constant companions, ever watchful over the welfare of each other. 
They share equally the duties and responsibilities of wedded life, and from the birth of the first offspring 
to their settlement in the world, as faithful father and mother, are unceasing protectors and providers 
for the family. This extraordinary strength of attachment, and exhibition of natural affection, has often 
attracted my attention. I once discovered by accident, a nest nicely concealed by some tufts of grass, 
after being placed under the projecting end of a fence rail. At this time there were in it five eggs. 
The number increased daily until twenty-three eggs filled the nest, and incubation began. All went on 
happily, until one morning there was evidently great distress in this little household. The male bird 
was sounding his anxious alarm;— he went hurriedly from one part of the farm to that of every other- 
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