Chapters on Insects, Chapter XII.-Humble Bees

Anecdotes of Colliers and Coal-Pits

Poetry :-Double Acrostics

December

PAGE

397

THE BANTAM FAMILY.

The Eagle of one house is the Goose of another."- Old Proverb.

IN a certain shrubbery, with a garden on one side of it, and a meadow on the other, resided the Bantam Family. A sociable and friendly set they were amongst themselves, seldom having very violent quarrels or disturbances, which, considering that they lived in retirement, and had no intercourse with their inferior neighbours, was particularly to their credit. Of course I do not mean to say that nothing unpleasant ever arose; that there were no little jealousies and peckings and squabblings between them at

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DECEMBER, 1854.

times, but, upon the whole, King Cockscomb, who was considered the head of the house, and laid down the law, accordingly, to all his humble subjects, had really a very easy life of it, and slept as quietly in his lime tree at night as if he had no cares of government upon his shoulders. It was particularly lucky for him that he had no very turbulent spirits to manage, for he was of a gay and volatile character himself, naturally disposed to hop lightly over the troubles of life, and to entertain a very comfortable opinion of himself, and if he had been constantly worried and overcrowed by more masterful natures, I think that he would have pined away, and broken his poor little heart at last. He was very handsome, and that, of course, was a pleasure to him. It never could have crossed his mind for a moment, from the time that he left his mother's coop, and began to scratch about the world independently, that there could be the smallest doubt as to his good looks. They were a handsome family. Mrs. Spangle was handsome, and Mrs. Pecker very elegant, though pale; and as to Mrs. Brownie, the plainest of all, even she, with her well-shaped legs, small head, and bright round eyes, would have been considered lovely without question in any other family.

Then King Cockscomb was blest with what he felt to be a very sweet voice. All his family had sweet voices. Not equal to his, but still better by far than the great, rough, croaking voices that you hear in common farm-yards: and almost the greatest rage that he ever fell into was when he heard one of his little ones-Perky by name— attempting a feeble imitation of the roar of

the Cochin-China Cock, the sound of which a northerly wind had brought over from the distant rick pen. King Cockscomb never troubled himself to argue or reason about anything. He never could see the use of it, and it was exceedingly tiresome besides. On this occasion he

adopted his usual plan. He flew instantly at Perky and gave him half-a-dozen such severe pecks on the head as stopped his efforts to get up a Cochin-China crow ever afterwards. All the talking in the world about the vulgarity of his conduct would not have made half so much impression.

Still I do not say that King Cockscomb was entirely without his troubles. In spite of his cheerful and easy disposition, in spite of the pleasant home in the shrubbery, with the gravel walk, and the shining blue-eyed periwinkles, and the sheltering box-trees, and chestnuts, and laurels, and the tall thick lime-tree where he slept, all things would not go right at all times, and it did seem really on one occasion as if Mrs. Pecker, in particular, was going quite wrong.

It was on a very pleasant evening in the early summer that King Cockscomb, having crowed three times in his usual shrill and piercing manner, and drank his last sip from the large red saucer under the palings, was preparing to ascend by easy stages to his lofty resting-place, when he observed Mrs. Spangle and Mrs. Brownie stopping for a moment on a branch just above his head, and making an odd sort of clucking together, as if something was wrong.

"What is the matter, my dears?" said Cockscomb, flying up all of a sudden between them,

and nearly knocking Brownie off the branch. "I hope you have not either of you hurt yourselves in springing up."

"Hurt ourselves!" said Spangle, who was a great beauty, and a little petulant: "such light flyers as we are would not be very likely to do that, I should think!”

"I did knock my head the other evening," said Mrs. Brownie, who was more humble; "but it is quite well now, thank you."

"Mrs. Pecker is on before, I presume, though I connot see her through the leaves?” said King Cockscomb.

In a moment he perceived that something was wrong in that direction. Mrs. Brownie glanced at Mrs. Spangle, and to avoid answering hopped at once into a branch a little farther on.

"Do you mean to say that Pecker is not on before?" asked King Cockscomb, with a very small flash in his round eyes.

"I know nothing about her, I am sure!" said Mrs. Spangle, tossing her head. "If she chooses to go her own way, it is no concern of mine."

Down flew Cockscomb to the ground again without another word. It was no wonder that he was irritated. Pecker knew perfectly well that it was the custom for the family to take their evening draught and go up into the tree first, while King Cockscomb remained to give public notice of their being all safe, by flapping his wings three times, and giving his loudest and longest crow, as we have mentioned. And now to think of his having been so deceived! What could she be dreaming of?

It did not seem very easy at first to find out,

for no answer was returned to his repeated calls, and all was so still amongst the box and laureltrees, that he must have heard the lightest rustle of one of her feathers. King Cockscomb's eyes were sharp, though small, and if Mrs. Pecker had been hiding anywhere near, she would certainly soon have been found, let her be as quiet as she might. But after actually running all down the gravel-walk and back again, and taking several turns amongst the periwinkles, King Cockscomb at last flew, in an angry manner, to the top of the palings, convinced that she must have strayed beyond all bounds into the meadow, and, perhaps, was unable, or afraid, to return again. The meadow was so light that he could see a long way over it, and certainly no Mrs. Pecker was there; but under the hedge on his right there was a dry ditch, and a deep shadow, and in the darkest corner King Cockscomb fancied that he caught the faintest possible blink of a pair of eyes. He flew to the spot immediately, and heard as he did so a kind of shuddering flutter. Yes, there was Mrs. Pecker, sure enough, sitting all in a heap, as if she wished to pass herself off for a lump of earth, or something that could not possibly have any neck or legs belonging to it.

"Pecker!" said King Cockscomb sharply, "you are behaving in a very strange manner. What business have you on the wrong side of the palings, and why are you out so late at all? I must beg that you will come home with me instantly."

"No, I cannot," said Mrs. Pecker. "I don't intend to roost in the tree any more at present."