AS THE rose among flowers, so is the peacock among the feathered tribes.

No other bird has so many colors in its plumage. Its hues are all beautiful; the brilliant blue and black, shot with gold, of the eyes of the tail, the satin-like peacock blue of its neck and breast, the shining green of its back, each feather with its tiny eye of brown, the clear brown of the stiff fan that supports its tail, the soft gray down that clothes its body—all are fit robing for this royal bird.

In keeping with his kingly raiment is his regal movement; so graceful, so dignified, that one seems disposed to believe the legend of India, his native home, that he contains the metamorphosed spirit of a peerless prince. I have said that his step is kingly, yet I am often disposed to yield to the opinion of an old man who declared that the gait of the peacock is queenly, much like that of a beautiful and graceful woman with a long train. Certain it is, that nothing else can make such an addition to a green lawn as a peacock, stepping lightly along, keeping his brilliant feathers swaying just above the grass.

My West Virginia home has many beauties of nature, shady dells where waters sparkle, pastures that slope toward the shining Ohio, lofty trees that give shade to sleek cattle and spirited horses; but amid all these charms we have always rated highly the gorgeous peacocks which have so long adorned its grounds that it has become known as the "Home of the Peacocks." Though now sadly diminished by poachers and hunters, there were many years in which scores of them, sometimes nearly a hundred, strutted around our rural home.

The peacock's tail does not assume full length and beauty until his fourth or fifth year. The feathers begin to grow in January, and by early spring are long, and then his season of strutting begins; and he spends a large part of every day in this proud employment. Each peacock has his favorite place of strutting, and frequents it day after day. Open gateposts are much sought after; and our front gateposts have always been favorite resting-places on sunny afternoons, where these beauties seemed posing to order.

For many seasons a very handsome one strutted in front of our sitting-room window. Some of the family slipped over its neck a cord on which hung a silver dime, which shone on its blue feathers. Alas for his majesty! Strutting in the road one day, a horse shied at him, and its owner threw a stone and killed the beauty.

The peahen, a meek-looking matron with a green neck and long gray feathers, is very secretive as to a nest, and seeks an orchard or wheatfield. When the little gray brood, from three to five in number, are a few weeks old she brings them to the yard.

Peafowls scorn the shelter of a house and roost in the loftiest trees. Near our home are some tall oaks and under them they gather on summer evenings, and, after many shrill good-night cries, fly upward to the high limbs.

In cold weather they do not come down until late in the day. Sometimes on snowy days they get so weighted with snow that they cannot fly up, and so settle on the ground, and their long feathers freezing, have to be cut loose. In June or early July their feathers begin to drop, and to secure them they must be plucked. Though so docile as to frequent the porches, they do not like to be caught, but take to the wing, so a rainy day is selected, when their feathers are weighted with water, and they are soon chased down. After being plucked they are unsteady in gait and hide in the bushes for days.

Peafowls have a strong home-feeling and when taken away are hard to retain; as they wander off, striving to return. They are enemies to young chickens, and are exasperating to the good housewife, as they are hard to drive away, performing a circle and returning. The peafowl is almost as good a table fowl as the turkey.