ant, bravest, and
most gallant cock to be seen from Burgos to Madrid. He thought himself
a phoenix of grace and beauty, and passed the best part of the day
in admiring himself in the brook. If one of his brothers ran against
him by accident, he abused him, called him envious and jealous, and
risked his only remaining eye in battle; if the hens clucked on seeing
him, he said it was to hide their spite because he did not condescend
to look at them.

One day, when he was more puffed up with vanity than usual, he
resolved no longer to remain in such a narrow sphere, but to go out
into the world, where he would be better appreciated.

"My lady mother," said he, "I am tired of Spain; I am going to Rome to
see the pope and cardinals."

"What are you thinking of, my poor child!" cried his mother. "Who has
put such a folly into your head? Never has one of our family been
known to quit his country, and for this reason we are the honor of our
race, and are proud of our genealogy. Where will you find a
poultry-yard like this--mulberry-trees to shade you, a whitewashed
henroost, a magnificent dunghill, worms and corn everywhere, brothers
that love you, and three great dogs to guard you from the foxes? Do
you not think that at Rome itself you will regret the ease and plenty
of such a life?"

Coquerico shrugged his crippled wing in token of disdain. "You are a
simple woman, my good mother," said he; "everything is accounted
worthy of admiration by him who has never quitted his dunghill. But I
have wit enough to see that my brothers have no ideas and that my
cousins are nothing but rustics. My genius is stifling in this hole; I
wish to roam the world and seek my fortune."

"But, my son, have you never looked in the brook?" resumed the poor
hen. "Don't you know that you lack an eye, a leg, and a wing? To make
your fortune, you need the eyes of a fox, the legs of a spider, and
the wings of a vulture. Once outside of these walls, you are lost."

"My good mother," replied Coquerico, "when a hen hatches a duck she is
always frightened on seeing it run to the water. You know me no
better. It is my nature to succeed by my wit and talent. I must have a
public capable of appreciating the charms of my person; my place is
not among inferior people."

"My son," said the hen, seeing all her counsels useless--"my son,
listen at least to your mother's last words. If you go to Rome, take
care to avoid St. Peter's Church; the saint, it is said