The crumblings of life are stories—tall tales and true ones, heroic and shaggy-dog ones. We don’t spin them the way we used to, complains the author, who offers the tales of Richard Clayton, balloonist; Lewis Wetzel, Indian killer; and Mother Jones, firebrand and seamstress.
“. . . For he is our glory and pride; Our arms shall in battle with conquest be crowned Whilst virtue and he’s on our side And lie’s on our side.”
As you can see, these deal with chickens of the old sort, raised on dirt rather than in wire cages. Chickens were more interesting then, although not much.