i6o 
THE HEART OF A GARDEN 
The spacious poultry-yard is all fenced about with 
blue-green trellis, graced upon the outer side by a high 
hedge of old Provence and moss-rose bushes, most 
fragrant and dainty in their season, but inconspicuous 
to-day. As the barred gate opens, an exultant flurry of 
hens, fatuously confident of benefits to come, dashes to 
meet you, and then, finding the hope groundless, dis¬ 
perses again to set once more about the perpetual quest 
for food. The snow-white, rosy-combed Leghorns make 
charming notes of colour—so charming, indeed, that 
there is small wonder the Japanese workers in inlay, and 
with pencil and brush beside, have so often taken them 
for motive. 
And, for the life of me, I cannot believe these dainty 
birds unconscious of their decorative aspect; my lord is 
the most arrant poseur I have seen for many a long day; 
his crow is arrogance made audible; he does not chal¬ 
lenge, but commands admiration of his high coral 
coronet and elegant plumed tail, arched as haughtily as 
the neck of any Arab steed; he does, indeed, “ stand 
proudly by”! His delicate seraglio, less aggressively 
equipped, minces hither and thither with little jerky, 
punctilious airs, for all the world like a bevy of very fine 
ladies in a muddy street. None of the other dwellers 
here flaunt such pretentious claims; but in colour and 
grouping I find comeliness in all, and more especially in 
the broad effect. 
Whether scattered over the orchard grass or, as now, 
gathered into motley groups of many patterns and 
colours, they greatly please the eye. 
Golden-brown, red-gold, spangled black, and silver, 
