wed repeatedly and often spunkily after the roosters
had been killed, never while they were alive.

Number Twelve crows sometimes in the presence of the rooster, chiefly
when alone. Most energetic in crowing.

Numbers Thirteen and Fourteen have simply the fact of their existence
recorded.

Now, mere proverb-mongers, bear in mind: In the whole country only
fourteen well-defined crowing hens,--at the worst, not a very crying
evil.

Of the fourteen, only one is recorded as having come to a bad end, and
that end had no connection with the crowing, but occurred while she was
engaged in the faithful discharge of her maternal duties.

Seven are reported as bearing an excellent domestic character, a
blessing to the society which they adorned. Against the remaining seven
not a syllable of reproach is breathed; but if there had been any evil
thing in them, who believes it would not have been learned and conned by
rote and cast into our teeth?

In the case of five, their crowing was not only innocent, but a
preeminent virtue, a manly crown set upon every feminine excellence.

Inconsistency? It is a white and shining word for the black quality to
which I applied it.

Men, the indictment is quashed. You are ruled out of court. Take your
couplet and depart, giving thanks that you are not prosecuted for
defamation of character.

While the architect and the hens were thus revelling in the halls of the
Montezumas, I turned my attention to the more modest purpose of
providing accommodations for the tomatoes. All our efforts in that line
hitherto had been comparative failures. "It is a good thing to take time
by the forelock," I had remarked to a subordinate, as early, I should
think, as February, perhaps January, and begun planting a great many
seeds in boxes, which were set in the sunshine under the kitchen
windows. A great many plants came up, and then a great many flocks and
herds of little green things oozed out of them and began to creep over
them, evidently with the design of eating them up. This would never do.
I borrowed a bound volume of the old "New England Farmer," from a young
New England farmer,--the worst thing in the world to do, let me say to
all amateur farmers. Use every lawful means of perfecting yourself in
your profession, but on no account touch an agricultural journal. They
bewilder an honest heart into despair. They show the importance and the
feasibility of so many things, every one of which is full of