WE left the sequestered hamlet of W—— early in the month of ——. I and my friend H——. We rode steadily on our steady palfreys. Toward evening we crossed a bridge over the bubbling river J——. Shortly after, we entered the town of X——. We put up at the inn where we were made welcome by the landlord, Mr. F——, an old acquaintance. He was formerly a shop keeper in the town of N——.

            Early the next morning whilst resting in the gutter we were suddenly startled by the sound of military music. The parade marched down the street. What a fine galaxy of personages, stately statesmen, noble ladies, twisted acrobats, potent nabobs. They were all going to witness the Patagonian chicken feathering. We all know what picking a chicken means in this country. It is a simple affair. First cut off the head and then feather the chicken. But the Patagonian chicken feathering is somewhat modified. Everything is reversed. Grab the biped. First feather the chicken, afterwards cut off its head. The whole affair is remarkable. What a spectacle!

            Agatha grabs the chicken. Lucinda sits directly in front of Agatha. Agatha holds the chicken. Lucinda does the feathering. On the floor near Lucinda's chair is a jar—an earthen jar—full of ashes. From time to time Lucinda dips her fingers in the ashes. Then she continues feathering the chicken—that same chicken held so firmly by Agatha! This all seems simple. But, oh, no. It is not at all simple. The chicken being alive naturally objects to being feathered. It is not a pleasant process—not for the chicken. The chicken screeches, the chicken shrieks. The chicken struggles. But the two girls are firm. They show great fortitude. You have all heard how the barber kept on shaving. Well, the girls kept on feathering. What shrieks of pain from the chicken. What struggles. The chicken is now almost denuded of feathers. The chicken's body is all one quivering mass of bleeding flesh. The last feather is plucked. The work is done. The chicken being now feathered it is time to cut off its head. Quick, Johnny, don't get your gun. Johnny, get your hatchet. The boy comes scampering along laughingly, grabs the bleeding chicken, rushes same to the chopping block. Chop! Chop! Johnny chopped nervously, therefore it took several chops before the chicken's head dropped down. Another spell of bleeding, another convulsive struggle from the chicken—a regular dance. The chicken actually went through a lot of fancy steps minus its head. The head rested on an adjacent stump. The head opened its mouth, grinned and seemed to enjoy the whole business. The jar of ashes is almost empty. Lucy collects all the feathers into a heap. Agatha strikes a match. She lights the heap of feathers. The feathers are soon reduced to ashes. The ashes are placed in the jar. The ashes will be reserved for the next feathering. It is easy to feather a bird when the fingers are dipped in ashes.

After this, my friends., I think it is far better, before we feather a chicken, to cut off its head.

            As for singeing the chicken, it is positively cruel to singe a chicken while it is alive. Don't do it. First cut off its head.

            Patagonia is a large peninsula directly southeast of the Island of Juan Fernandez.

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