THE^PEACOCK. 
ANNA K. HENDERSON. 
ftS THE rose among flowers, so is 
the peacock among the feath- 
ered tribes. 
No other bird has so many- 
colors in its plumage. Its hues are all 
beautiful; the brilliant blue and black, 
shot with gold, of the eyes of the tail, 
the satin-like peacock blue of its neck 
and breast, the shining green of its 
back, each feather with its tiny eye of 
brown, the clear brown of the stiff fan 
that supports its tail, the soft gray 
down that clothes its body — all are fit 
robing for this royal bird. 
In keeping with his kingly raiment is 
his regal movement; so graceful, so 
dignified, that one seems disposed to 
believe the legend of India, his native 
home, that he contains the metamor- 
phosed spirit of a peerless prince. 1 
have said that his step is kingly, yet 
I am often disposed to yield to the 
opinion of an old man who declared 
that the gait of the peacock is queenly, 
much like that of a beautiful and grace- 
ful woman with a long train. Certain 
it is, that nothing else can make such 
an addition to a green lawn as a pea- 
cock, stepping lightly along, keeping 
his brilliant feathers swaying just above 
the grass. 
My West Virginia home has many 
beauties of nature, shady dells where 
waters sparkle, pastures that slope 
toward the shining Ohio, lofty 
trees that give shade to sleek cat- 
tle and spirited horses; but amid all 
these charms we have always rated 
highly the gorgeous peacocks which 
have so long adorned its grounds that 
it has become known as the "Home of 
the Peacocks." Though now sadly di- 
minished by poachers and hunters, 
there were many years in which scores 
of them, sometimes nearly a hundred, 
strutted around our rural home. 
The peacock's tail does not assume 
full length and beauty until his fourth 
or fifth year. The feathers begin to 
grow in January, and by early spring 
are long, and then his season of strut- 
ting begins; and he spends a large part 
of every day in this proud employment. 
Each peacock has his favorite place of 
strutting, and frequents it day after 
day. Open gateposts are much sought 
after; and our front gateposts have 
always been favorite resting-places on 
sunny afternoons, where these beauties 
seemed posing to order. 
For many seasons a very handsome 
one strutted in front of our sitting-room 
window. Some of the family slipped 
over its neck a cord on which hung a 
silver dime, which shone on its blue 
feathers. Alas for his majesty! Strut- 
ting in the road one day, a horse shied 
at him, and its owner threw a stone and 
killed the beauty. 
The peahen, a meek-looking matron 
with a green neck and long gray feath- 
ers, is very secretive as to a nest, and 
seeks an orchard or wheatfield. When 
the little gray brood, from three to five 
in number, are a few weeks old she 
brings them to the yard. 
Peafowls scorn the shelter of a house 
and roost in the loftiest trees. Near 
our home are some tall oaks and under 
them they gather on summer evenings, 
and, after many shrill good-night cries, 
fly upward to the high limbs. 
In cold weather they do not come 
down until late in the day. Sometimes 
on snowy days they get so weighted 
with snow that they cannot fly up, and 
so settle on the ground, and their long 
feathers freezing, have to be cut loose. 
In June or early July their feathers be- 
gin to drop, and to secure them they 
must be plucked. Though so docile as 
to frequent the porches, they do not 
like to be caught, but take to the wing, 
so a rainy day is selected, when their 
feathers are weighted with water, and 
they are soon chased down. After be- 
ing plucked they are unsteady in gait 
and hide in the bushes for days. 
Peafowls have a strong home-feeling 
and when taken away are hard to re- 
tain; as they wander off, striving to re- 
turn. They are enemies to young 
chickens, and are exasperating to the 
good housewife, as they are hard to 
drive away, performing a circle and re- 
turning. The peafowl is almost as 
good a table fowl as the turkey. 
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