a long name out of the copious vocabulary of our chicken dialect, a form of speech which always amazed those who chanced to overhear it. We counted it one of the least of our duties to keep accurately informed concerning all changes of rank, and to know at any time just how many others every fowl on the farm could "boss," and how many, in turn, "bossed" it. From the old sultan, who acknowledged no rivals, to the forlorn "scrub" of the youngest brood of chicks which had fought out their station, there were no exceptions. These facts, which might easily be multiplied, will suffice to account for the exceptional observations of our long experience as poultry-lovers.
We early learned that our pets had striking individuality. In this broad fact we found ample reason to note with interest rather than surprise the after-discoveries of almost human traits which made them a never-ending delight. There were young roosters all fuss and bluster from the first, while others were singularly quiet and wary, just as some hens were solitary and suspicious, and others were trustful in the extreme and wretched without much company. These traits were not only inherited, but could be discerned very early. Two or three of the bravest hens on the farm would always, after "stealing a nest," with our permission, bring out a brood of young fighters as much like their mother in habits as in appearance. We could only guess at the descent in the male line. In one case of this kind, where a fine hen was left with but a single chick after the casualties of the first few days, we managed to make the little fellow so conceited and pugnacious that he would fight chickens twice his size, and more than once before he was weaned he tried to whip his mother. This we did by throwing food to a larger chicken, beginning with one which we knew to be cowardly, in such a way that it would get the morsel while its tail was turned toward our little champion. Immediately another tidbit, dropped in front of the victim, would make it appear to be running away at the very time that it was getting all the food the other wanted. He soon showed his disgust by pecking the retreating form of the hungry chicken, and we never let the object of his wrath turn until he was very sure that it was afraid of him; then, if it showed too much pluck, we could always tempt or drive it away in time to make our little pet think it was really conquered. The tiny victor was as proud as if he had been four times as big, and got his fill to eat as his reward. By a long course of this sort of training his audacity became only less remarkable than his courage and fierceness in fighting. With other young roosters, until they were nearly half-grown, the same tactics usually succeeded in bringing on a fight. Often we started a "feed" with one, the confident master, and the other, the uneasy but intimidated subject, and ended it with the
