The hen partner in this concern iz the most exquisit little boquet ov neatness and feathers that the eye ever roosted on. They are az prim az a premature yung lady. It is a luxury to watch their daintyness, tew see them lay each feather with their bills, in its place, and preside over themselfs with az mutch delikasy and pride az a belle before her mirror. But the consumation iz tew see the wife a mother, leading out six little chicks a bugging; six little chicks no bigger than bumbelbees. It seems tew be necessary that there should be sumthing outrageous in evrything, tew show us whare propriety ends and impropriety begins. This iz melancholly, the case in the rooster affair, for we hav the shanghi rooster, the gratest outrage, in mi opinyun, ever committed in the annals ov poultry. Theze kritters are the camels amung fowls, they mope around the barnyard, tipping over the hay racks and stepping on the yung goslins, and evry now and then they crow confusion. If enny body should giv me a shanghi rooster i should halter him, and keep him in a box stall, and feed him on cut feed, and if he would work kind in harness, all right, if not, i would butcher him the fust wet day that cum, and salt him down tew give tew the poor. But thare ain’t noboddy a going tew giv me one ov this breed, knot if i know it, i don’t think thare iz a man on earth mean enuff to do it. Roosters do but very little household work, they wont lay enny eggs, nor try tew hatch enny, nor see tew the yung ones; this satisfys me that thare is sum truth in the mythologikal ackount ov the rooster’s fust origin. Yu kant git a rooster to pay enny attenshun tew a yung one, they spend their time in crowing, strutting, and occassionly find a worm, which they make a remarkabell fuss over, calling up their wifes from a distance, apparently tew treat them, but just az the hens git thare, this elegant and elaborate cuss bends over and gobbles up the morsel. _Just like a man, for all the world._ THE FOX. Of all the beasts who roam the hill tops, or clime the plains, thare is none who makes so few blunders, and so many good hits as the fox. His shewdness iz more than a match for the lion’s strength, his logick iz more than a match for the malice ov the wolf and hiz politeness and defference makes him the fop and gentleman ov the forest. The fox is a literary cuss; he haz been the hero ov history, fable, and song, from the fust dawn ov oral or written knowledge. He waz a genius long before ackedemick honors flourished; he waz a poet, skoller and sage before the days ov Homer and Herodotus, and now, in our times, he is the Ben Butler ov diplomacy an the Brigham Young ov matrimony. The fox is purely a game bird. It costs on an average fifty dollars tew ketch him, and when he iz caught he aint worth more than ten shillings. He follers no regular bizzness for sustenance, but livs on the chances and on hiz wit.