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1I am not sure that I ever heard the sound of cock-crowing from my clearing, and I thought that it might be worth the
2while to keep a cockerel for his music merely, as a singing bird. The note of this once wild Indian pheasant is
3certainly the most remarkable of any bird's, and if they could be naturalized without being domesticated, it would soon
4become the most famous sound in our woods, surpassing the clangor of the goose and the hooting of the owl; and then
5imagine the cackling of the hens to fill the pauses when their lords' clarions rested! No wonder that man added this
6bird to his tame stock,--to say nothing of the eggs and drumsticks. To walk in a winter morning in a wood where these
7birds abounded, their native woods, and hear the wild cockerels crow on the trees, clear and shrill for miles over the
8resounding earth, drowning the feebler notes of other birds,--think of it! It would put nations on the alert. Who would
9not be early to rise, and rise earlier and earlier every successive day of his life, till he became unspeakably healthy,
10wealthy, and wise? This foreign bird's note is celebrated by the poets of all countries along with the notes of their
11native songsters. All climates agree with brave Chanticleer. He is more indigenous even than the natives. His health is
12ever good, his lungs are sound, his spirits never flag. Even the sailor on the Atlantic and Pacific is awakened by his
13voice; but its shrill sound never roused me from my slumbers. I kept neither dog, cat, cow, pig, nor hens, so that you
14would have said there was a deficiency of domestic sounds; neither the churn, nor the spinning wheel, nor even the
15singing of the kettle, nor the hissing of the urn, nor children crying, to comfort one. An old-fashioned man would have
16lost his senses or died of ennui before this. Not even rats in the wall, for they were starved out, or rather were never
17baited in,--only squirrels on the roof and under the floor, a whippoorwill on the ridge pole, a blue-jay screaming
18beneath the window, a hare or woodchuck under the house, a screech-owl or a cat-owl behind it, a flock of wild geese or
19a laughing loon on the pond, and a fox to bark in the night. Not even a lark or an oriole, those mild plantation birds,
20ever visited my clearing. No cockerels to crow nor hens to cackle in the yard. No yard! but unfenced Nature reaching up
21to your very sills. A young forest growing up under your meadows, and wild sumachs and blackberry vines breaking through
22into your cellar; sturdy pitch pines rubbing and creaking against the shingles for want of room, their roots reaching
23quite under the house. Instead of a scuttle or a blind blown off in the gale,--a pine tree snapped off or torn up by the
24roots behind your house for fuel. Instead of no path to the front-yard gate in the Great Snow,--no gate,--no
25front-yard,--and no path to the civilized world!
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