180 FANCIERS’ 
JOURNAL AND POULTRY EXCHANGE. 

among fanciers, known as pied and white, and these varie- 
ties have been introduced into California from Japan. But 
none of these are superior or equal in beauty to our ordinary 
birds. They were originally introduced into Western Europe 
by Vasco da Gama, the great Portuguese navigator, who 
succeeded in bringing a few live ones to his kingly master, 
Fernando the Fat. The birds are wild, yet easily domesti- 
cated. Thousands of them are to be seen ornamenting the 
grounds around the Hindoo temples. The feathers are used 
by the priests for ornamentation, and the eggs and flesh for 
food. The bird will not bear any confinement—requires a 
large range—and to be fully enjoyed as an ornamental ap- 
pendage to the grounds, must be in large flocks. They are 
not prolific, yet thrifty and vigorous, and will live to an ad- 
vanced age. The patriarch of our flock lived to be twenty- 
two years old, and was gathered to his Hindoo fathers in the 
natural way. I have seen it stated that at one time in the 
East they were recognized as a sacred bird—and I have seen 
the huge roofs of the temples of Allahabad, a sacred city of 
India, perfectly alive with them. Our original flock, now 
forty years old, is still in existence on the banks of the Dela- 
ware. They are a difficult bird to transplant when matured. 
I remember once to have presented a trio to a youthful sweet- 
heart who lived some fifteen miles away, and the whole party 
returned in a few days. We began with a sitting of fifteen 
eggs, sent to us by Mr. Camac, who kept a splendid flock at 
his country seat near Philadelphia, and my grandfather 
brought them to us, carrying them on his lap in his carriage 
all the way. Ten were put under a turkey hen, and five 
under an old-fashioned five-toed Dominique hen—by the 
way, about the best fowl after all. Of the ten, seven hatched 
out; of the five, three came out—in all ten. Of these, seven 
(four hens and three cocks) came to perfect maturity, and 
formed the nucleus of our flock. 
In the next two years’ experience, when left to their own 
devices, the hens in the latter days of March would steal 
their nests, hiding in the top of the stalk-stack, straw-rick, 
or among the swingle tow stored in the peak of the roof over 
the colt stable—in the farm talk of that day called the 
‘‘cupola,”’ it being the highest building on the farm, sur- 
mounted by a rough turret, or ‘‘look-out,”” much needed in 
early days, and decorated with a red wooden weather-cock 
imported from Holland. This high-up, out-of-the-way place 
was the favorite resort of both the pea fowl and the turkey 
hen in spring; yet, later in summer, both made their nests 
on the ground. 
The hen will lay six or seven eggs, go to sitting, and the 
moment one peeps under her wing, away she goes with it. 
In her anxiety to avoid the too scrutinizing observation of 
her master, her baby starves, or is destroyed by vermin. At 
all events, it disappears in a few days. Later in the season 
the hen steals her nest in a thick hedge row—if possible, 
under a pile of stones, or in a rocky cliff, with the approach 
well protected with briers, &c. Again she lays six or seven 
eggs, and turns up at the end of the season with a couple of 
fine birds. Thus left to their own devices, the egg product 
would amount to twelve to fourteen, and the bird product 
two or three. 
Two years of this sort of thing was enough. The bird 
being a native of a hot climate, and luxuriating in tropical 
heat, accounts for the failure in some degree. The peacock 
is magnificent, and although he will sometimes mount the 
chimney top and yell discord, much to the disquiet of human 
sensibilities, yet when he appears upon the lawn at ‘‘ noon- 

tide,’ in full array, people who have a weakness for fine_ 
feathers forgive him. Yet with all his beauty he is an ego- 
tist of the meanest sort, ugly-tempered, cantankerous, and 
jealous among his family, especially in the spring, and is a 
coward withal. A plucky chicken cock will make him beat 
an ignominious retreat; and with all his domineering, he is 
a ‘hen-pecked”’ fellow after all. For when it comes toa 
pitched battle between him and his wife, he uniformly comes 
off second best and retires; not from gallantry, but his 
vanity, centered in the protection of his tail, upsets his equi- 
librium in the whirl of the fray. Among the feathered 
tribe, the bird of paradise is his only equal in vanity and 
meanness. He is charged with destroying the young, but in 
my experience this charge is not proved. But he will spy 
out the nest, and if he can evade the hen, who keeps a wary 
eye upon him, he will tramp the eggs to pieces, and wing his 
way to the chimney top, and screech with delight at his 
dastardly conduct. He is wise to keep out of her way then, 
for if she catches him his hair will get pulled ‘‘ certain sure.”’ 
But since she is as amiable as he is cross-grained, and she 
admires him very much, he is soon forgiven. He will 
plunder the nests and devour the eggs of other poultry; but 
he is a cute thief, and seldom risks being caught. In the 
barnyard he is no more insolent than turkeys or guineas. 
The young pea hen is somewhat disposed to flirt, and will 
coquet with the young goblers, causing the old one to knock 
things about some. The old hen is amiable and motherly. 
Armed with this experience, at the third year we marked 
the nests and stole the eggs, always taking them away after 
roosting time. The old hens would now lay nine to eleven 
and stop. Sometimes we would get four or five from a 
second laying in-deors. Then she would steal her nest and 
turn up in July with five or six birds. Insect life is then 
rampart, and when they go for them they get them. At this 
business they can beat the turkey out of the field, being more 
active and intelligent. 
The stolen eggs, we put ten in a nest, under a good staid 
old turkey hen, and five under a Dominique hen. Ten 
chicks would be sure to hatch, and sometimes twelve. Put 
all with the turkey, as she is the best foster mother, and 
would pull through with eight or ten. The chicks are very 
pretty—much more hardy than turkeys, and more easily 
raised; must have plenty of room, animal food, water at 
will; are very docile, like to be petted, handled, and fed; 
will eat out of your hand or mouth, and flutter all over you; 
are very quick of wing, hence avoid many accidents, and 
will mount to the top of a three-foot paling before a turkey 
chick will mount a clap-board. At two months old I have 
seen them perched along the peak of the barn roof, making 
their way thence by the sheds and house roofs, and in another 
month on the very peak of the cupola. 
By and by, when we came to know more and had old 
hens, we let them hatch and raise the chicks. When the 
writer went away to college there was a flock of eighty, and, 
when on parade, as fine a sight as one could wish to see. 
Judge Buel, the founder of the Cultivator, visited my father 
about this time, much admired my birds, and complimented 
me very highly. 
As an edible bird, the pea fowl is quite equal to the turkey ; 
and if cooked as they do it in India, is superior. It is a very 
sweet dish; the cooked bird is served incased by his own 
skin, set up in full feather, as the English serve a pheasant, 
standing up to his belly among olives, pomegranates, figs, 
dates, &c. The eggs are only fit to be eaten boiled very hard, 
or as an omelet with strong cheese, old ham, rusty bacon, 
well curried, as served to the British India officers.—B, W. H., 
in Country Gentleman. 
Vers, 9 gfe 
