by Solomon to Palestine, essentially regal.  Kings have used peacocks as their crests, have worn crowns of their feathers.  Queens and princesses have flirted gorgeous peacock fans; the pavan, a favorite dance in the days of Louis le Grand, imitated its stately step.  In the days of chivalry the most solemn oath was taken on the peacock’s body, roasted whole and adorned with its gay feathers, as Shallow swore “by cock and pie.”  I saw the fairest of all the fair dames at a grand mediaeval banquet proudly bearing the bird to the table.  The woman who hesitates is lost.  I bought the pair, and ordered them boxed for “Breezy Meadows.”

On the arrival of the royal pair at my ’umble home, all its surroundings began to lose the charm of rustic simplicity, and appear shabby, inappropriate, and unendurable.  It became evident that the entire place must be raised, and at once, to the level of those peacocks.

The house and barn were painted (colonial yellow) without a moment’s delay.  An ornamental piazza was added, all the paths were broadened and graveled, and even terraces were dreamed of, as I recalled the terraces where Lord Beaconsfield’s peacocks used to sun themselves and display their beauties—­Queen Victoria now has a screen made of their feathers.

My expensive pets felt their degradation in spite of my best efforts and determined to sever their connection with such a plebeian place.

Beauty (I ought to have called him Absalom or Alcibiades), as soon as let out of his traveling box, displayed to an admiring crowd a tail so long it might be called a “serial,” gave one contemptuous glance at the premises, and departed so rapidly, by running and occasional flights, that three men and a boy were unable to catch up with him for several hours.  Belle was not allowed her liberty, as we saw more trouble ahead.  A large yard, inclosed top and sides with wire netting, at last restrained their roving ambition.  But they were not happy.  Peacocks disdain a “roost” and seek the top of some tall tree; they are also rovers by nature and hate confinement.  They pined and failed, and seemed slowly dying; so I had to let them out.  Total cost of peacock hunts by the boys of the village, $11.33.  I found that Beauty was happy only when admiring himself, or deep in mischief.  His chief delight was to mount the stone wall, and utter his raucous note, again and again, as a carriage passed, often scaring the horses into dangerous antics, and causing severe, if not profane criticism.  Or he would steal slyly into a neighbor’s barn and kill half a dozen chickens at a time.  He was awake every morning by four o’clock, and would announce the glories of the coming dawn by a series of ear-splitting notes, disturbing not only all my guests, but the various families within range, until complaints and petitions were sent in.  He became a nuisance—­but how could he be muzzled?