He was of a haughty size, stood haughtily on his haughty legs. His colors were red, gold, and white. The red was on his crest along, which was a mighty and symmetric crest, like unto Hector's helmet, as delineated on antique shields. His plumage was snowy, traced with gold. He walked in front of the shanty, like a peer of the realm; his crest lifted, his chest heaved out, his embroidered trappings flashing in the light. His pace was wonderful. He looked like some Oriental king in some magnificent Italian opera. Merrymusk advanced from the door. "Pray is not that the Signor Beneventano?" "Sir!" "That's the cock," said I, a little embarrassed. The truth was, my enthusiasm had betrayed me into a rather silly inadvertence. I had made a somewhat learned sort of allusion in the presence of an unlearned man. Consequently, upon discovering it by his honest stare, I felt foolish; but carried it off by declaring that _this was the cock_. Now, during the preceding autumn I had been to the city, and had chanced to be present at a performance of the Italian Opera. In that opera figured in some royal character a certain Signor Beneventano--a man of a tall, imposing person, clad in rich raiment, like to plumage, and with a most remarkable, majestic, scornful stride. The Signor Beneventano seemed on the point of tumbling over backward with exceeding haughtiness. And, for all the world, the proud pace of the cock seemed the very stage-pace of the Signor Beneventano. Hark! suddenly the cock paused, lifted his head still higher, ruffled his plumes, seemed inspired, and sent forth a lusty crow. October Mountain echoed it; other mountains sent it back; still others rebounded it; it overran the country round. Now I plainly perceived how it was I had chanced to hear the gladdening sound on my distant hill. "Good heavens! do you own the cock? Is that cock yours?" "Is it my cock!" said Merrymusk, looking slyly gleeful out of the corner of his long, solemn face. "Where did you get it?" "It chipped the shell here. I raised it." "You?" Hark? Another crow. It might have raised the ghosts of all the pines and hemlocks ever cut down in that country. Marvelous cock! Having crowed, he strode on again, surrounded by a bevy of admiring hens. "What will you take for Signor Beneventano?" "Sir?" "That magic cock--what will you take for him?" "I won't sell him." "I will give you fifty dollars." "Pooh!" "One hundred!" "Pish!" "Five hundred!" "Bah!" "And you a poor man." "No; don't I own that cock, and haven't I refused five hundred dollars for him?" "True," said I, in profound thought; "that's a fact. You won't sell him, then?" "No." "Will you give him?" "No." "Will you _keep_ him, then!" I shouted, in a rage. "Yes." I stood awhile admiring the cock, and wondering at the man. At last I felt a redoubled admiration of the one, and a redoubled deference for the other. "Won't you step in?" said Merrymusk.