THE COTTAGE GARDEN EE AND COUNTRY GENTLEMAN’S COMPANION, November 11, 1856. 101 
instances, known Cochins take first prizes year after year as 
“ Buff ” birds, when they were actually bred from a clear 
lemon-coloured cock and deep grouse-feathered hen, be¬ 
traying, even on the closest examination, not the slightest 
visible sign of their maternal impurity; but, on the other 
hand, after long-attempted trials, I could not instance a 
single case where the majority, or even more than an isolated 
bird, betokened “ pure buff” where the colours of the parents 
■were reversed. In Hamburghs the like proved invariable— 
the ground colour and markings almost always approximated 
very closely to that of the cock bird. In Sebright Bantams 
the never-varying results were identical with those before- 
named. As a still farther and most cogent test, the attempt 
was made with a purely-descended Black-breasted Game 
cock of the old Earl of Derby’s breed, crossed with a well- 
bred entirely White Game hen. The same season the 
sister pullet of the just-described Game cock was mated 
with a clear White Game cock. Both of these “ crosses ” 
prospered exceedingly, but the result proved so diverse as to 
be almost incredible. The chickens from the Black-breasted 
Game cock and White hen were as follows:—Twelve “brown- 
reds,” of excellent feathering; four black-breasted red cocks, 
and one pullet to match them; and nine very good-looking, 
exceedingly dark-coloured “ red piles;” thus making twenty- 
six chickens in the aggregate without a single white one! 
By accident of one kind or other only fourteen chickens of 
the other cross attained maturity out of two distinct hatches. 
Of these eleven were nearly white ones, only possessing a 
scattered feather here and there ; indeed, so few were they 
in number that three pens of these birds were actually 
publicly exhibited, after a little previous “ trimming,” as 
“White Game chickens,” and carried premiums as such. 
Of the remaining three two were light “red piles,” and the 
other one a purely black bird, when two years old, with 
golden hackles ! Enough has been proved as to the probable 
results as to colour in the offspring, and how far chickens 
are usually influenced in that respect by the male; but the 
results have always been as absolutely conclusive that the 
conformation and prominent characteristics were, as to the 
eemale parent, as closely assimilating. This distinctly 
proves that the most probable means of attaining any mucli- 
desired colour in poultry is to pay special attention to the 
perfection of the male in this particular, and that conformity 
of general character will tally pretty closely on the maternal 
side. 
As to constitution and the promotion of rude health, 
combined with no deterioration in point of size, these much- 
to-be-desired advantages can never even be hoped for, far 
less expected, where close inter-breeding has long been 
foolishly persisted in. How frequently it is that “ poultry 
friends ” write me the most lachrymose and evidently heart¬ 
felt complaints, inquiring, “ How can it be ? They had the 
very best fowls of any one for some years, as the list of 
their exhibition successes would fully prove; they have 
always studiously avoided disposing of their best and selected 
chickens; no strangers have been allowed to intrude upon 
their fowls’ walks ; and yet their present collection is hardly 
worth the trouble of killing.” Scores of letters now before 
me are but, as it were, the echo of the previous query. The 
fault is exclusively long-continued and incestuous inter¬ 
course. This result is always inevitable. By careful close 
breeding the amateur owner may arrive at the acme of per¬ 
fection ; but with the same strain he cannot continue 
breeding to his greatly-envied standard. His hopes will be 
frustrated, and the popularity of his stock topple down 
headlong, if he determinately attempts it. Arrived at this 
long-coveted point, Nature recoils, comparative sterility 
ensues, and an enfeebled progeny, even if they, by careful 
management, do live, tells forcibly there are bounds assigned 
beyond which we cannot progress. Even then an alterative, 
indeed, a radical remedy is at every one’s disposal. An in¬ 
fusion of “fresh” blood instills renewed vigour; whilst, by 
this course, malformation, imbecility, and constitutional 
weakness, speedily give way.— Chanticleer. 
SOME OF MY POULTRY EXPERIENCE. 
Who has not read “ Dred,” and smiled at our old friend, 
the black and woolly-headed Caleb Balderstonc, who hides 
everything behind his laugh, and cannot help it, “it is so 
curus ? ” Neither can I; it is so odd. 
I had a pen of Hamburgh fowls—sent them to a Show— 
three good Judges—got third prize. Sent them again—got 
nothing. Third time, got first. Much delighted, sent them 
again—got nothing ; was told they were worn out—advised 
to put them in at a selling price ; did so—10s. each ; got 
the first prize, and my birds, worth A10, were sold at 30s. 
Very cross, but can’t help laughing—“it is so curus." Judge 
for myself in future. 
I suppose it is “ human natur ” for a man to assist others 
in deceiving him. I knew my Hamburghs were good, 
better than most people possessed; but I had an evil genius 
in the shape of an intimate friend, and with the sort of 
fascination that makes us look, spite of ourselves, at an un¬ 
pleasant sight. I chose him for my adviser. I knew he would 
give me well-meant but wrong advice, because his praise was 
always qualified by a “ but ” or an “ if.” As I am smarting 
under the loss of my pets, as I believe they will be among 
the winners at Birmingham, and as other people are now 
preparing for that great struggle, I put up myself as a 
warning, and as I stand, I laugh such a laugh, because, after 
all, “ it is so curus.” 
And you laugh, you strong-minded man, and you say to 
yourself, “ I should like to see any one inducing me to sell 
my birds.” There were once several men at table—among 
them two editors of newspapers, and the most popular actor 
of the place. The conversation turned on the power of the 
press. “Gentlemen,” said the comedian, “beginners may 
dread the press ; but reputations that are made may laugh 
at it.” “ Indeed ! ” said the editors; “ do you mean to say 
you are above its power?” “Yes, my friends,” was the 
answer; “ I hurl a friendly defiance at you, and forgive you 
beforehand.” I should say this occurred in a large town in 
France. 
The next morning the Courier , in its article on the 
theatre, said, “ We last night saw our old friend in his 
favourite character. He was, as usual, inimitable; but 
genius cannot conquer time, and all his life and joyous 
action cannot hinder us from seeing that he is fast becoming 
middle-aged— he is getting stout." The actor shuddered when 
he read it; he started up to consult the glass ; decidedly, he 
thought, he was inclining to embonpoint. He would consult 
medical men; he would reduce himself; but, in the mean 
time, he must go through his parts. His faultless form had 
never required assistance; but now he sought help, and a 
cleverly-contrived belt was constructed. He tried it, was 
delighted, and laughed cheerfully—“ it was so curus.” 
The Journal, two days after', wrote, “What strange folly 
has taken possession of our friend ? What can he mean by 
appearing on the stage trussed and screwed like a dressed 
figure in a tailor’s shop ? Does he forget he is an artist 
and a man of genius? Will he depend, in future, on a 
spider waist, an irreproachable costume, and elaborate boots 
for his popularity? Believe us, my good friend, talent like 
yours can dispense with such helps.” 
“ Decidedly,” said he, “ the Journal is right,” and the 
belt was abandoned. 
Then came the Courier. “ At the last representation but 
one we thought we were deceived; but now we are sure we 
are right—be is getting fat.” 
“A plague on both your houses!” said the poor man, 
and resumed his belt. 
Thursday’s Journal said, “ We warn him again, and for 
the last time, that if he forgets his real talent, and fixes his 
mind on personal appearances, shared by nineteen out of 
twenty who go to see him, he will find his popularity wane. 
We want to see a man who personifies the creations of our 
great dramatists, and we are indifferent to the exact number 
of inches he measures round the waist.” 
He heard, or fancied lie heard, people canvassing the 
point during the performance. Instead of identifying 
himself with the character, he was thinking of himself, and, 
sending for the editor's, he gave in. 
“ Are you a fancier of Hamburghs ? Ask my friend to see 
them.” 
“ There, Sir, did you ever see better?” 
“They are excellent.” 
“ I defy any one to find fault with them.” 
“ It is difficult, but the deaf ear of the cock is not 
