CHAPTER XXVII.. A Genuine Humbug.

A GENUINE HUMBUG.

It was now getting pretty clear to the vision of most of the initiated that the hen fever was in the midst of its height. Buyers with long purses were about, but they were not so ravenous as formerly. They talked knowingly and cautiously, and chose their fowls with more care than formerly; but still a great many samples were being circulated, and at very handsomely remunerating prices.

A gentlemanly-looking man called upon me, one day, about this time, in Boston, and introduced himself, in his own felicitous manner, something in this wise:

"How are you? Mr. Burnum, I suppose. My name is T----. I'm from Phil'delphy."

"Happy to see you, Mr. T----," I replied. "Take a seat, sir?"

"I want to look at your fowls, Burnum," he continued, in a rather bluff manner. "I know what poultry is, I think. I've been at it, now, over thirty year; and I'd oughter know what fowls is. You're a humbug, Burnum! There's no doubt about that; and you're all a set of hums, together--you hen-men! I haven't got the fever. I'm never disturbed by no such stupid nonsense. These China fowls are an old story with me. I had 'em twenty years ago,--brought into Phil'delphy straight from Shanghae by a friend of mine."

"These big fowls never lay no eggs, Burnum. You know it as well as anybody. Do they?"

"None to hurt," I answered.

"No, no--I reck'n not," continued my visitor. "I know 'em, like a book. Can't fool me with them. They an't worth a curse to nobody. I'll go out and see yours, though, 'cause you're a good deal fairer than I expected to find you. I thought you'd try to hum me, same as I s'pose you do the rest."

"O, no!" I replied, meekly. "When I meet with gentlemen who are posted up, as you are, sir, I conceive it to be useless to attempt to urge them to possess themselves of this stock; because I am always satisfied, at first sight, what my customer is. And I govern myself accordingly. I will take you out to my place, directly. My carriage is in town, and we'll ride out together. You can see it,--but you say you don't want to purchase any?"

"No, no--that's not my object, at all. Still, I like to look at the humbugs, any way."

I was as well satisfied that this man knew very little of what he thus boldly talked of, as I also was that he had come all the way from Philadelphia purposely to buy some Chinese fowls. But I gave him no hint of this suspicion; and we arrived, an hour afterwards, at my residence in Melrose.

He examined my fowls carefully; went through all the coops and houses, and finally we entered the "green-house" where the selected animals were kept. As soon as he saw these birds, I saw that he was "a goner."

He denounced the whole race as he passed along; but when we entered this well-appointed place, he stopped. These were very respectable, and he wouldn't mind having a few of these, he said.

"What do you get for such as these?" he inquired.

"Twenty-five dollars each," I replied, "when I sell them. But they're all alike. You know it as well as I do. They're worth no such money. These fowls are well-grown, and are in good condition; but five or six shillings each is their full real value. Still, you know when 'the children cry for them,' why, we get a little more for them."

"Yes; but twenty-five dollars is a thundering hum, anyhow, Burnum! I can't go that! You mustn't think of getting no such price as that out of me, you see; 'cause you know that I know what all this bosh means. I'd like that cock and those three big hens," he added, pointing to four of my "best" birds. "That is," he continued, "if I could have them at anything like a fair rate."

"My dear sir," I responded; "you don't want any such hum as this imposed upon you. You know, evidently, what all this kind of thing signifies. But, at the same time, you see I can get this price, and do get it every day in the week, out of the 'flats' that you have been speaking of. I don't sell any of these things to gentlemen, who know, as you do, what they are, you see."

"Yes, yes!" continued the stranger; "I know; I see. I comprehend you, exactly--precisely. But I should like them four fowls. What's the lowest price you'll name for them?"

"I never have but one price, sir," I replied. "These fowls I keep here for show-birds. They are my 'sign,' you perceive--my models. The younger stock, that you have seen outside, are bred from these; and thus I am enabled to show gentlemen, when they come here, what the others will be"--(perhaps, I might have added; but I didn't).

This gentleman remained half an hour at my house, and we talked the whole subject over, at our leisure. I agreed with him in every proposition that he advanced, and he finally left me with the assurance that I had been traduced villanously. He really expected to meet with a regular sharper when he encountered me; but he was satisfied, if there was a gentleman and an honest poultry-breeder in New England, I was that fortunate individual!

I did not dispute even this assurance on his part. And when he left, I had one hundred dollars of his money, and he took away with him four of my "splendid" pure-bred Grey Shanghaes, which I sent to the cars with him when he bade me good-day.

This was but a single sample of the real humbugs that presented themselves to us, from time to time, all of whom were certain to inform us that they were "thoroughly acquainted" with the entire details of the business; all of whom had been through the routine, and "knew every rope in the ship;" none of whom were affected with the "fever" (so they always declared), and not one of whom believed, while they were thus striving to pull wool over the eyes of others, that they were all the time being "shaken down" without mercy!

This was the very class of men who, in the later days of the malady, assisted most to keep up the delusion, and to aid in carrying on the hum of the trade. To be sure, the keepers of agricultural warehouses talked, and told big stories to their poor customers, who would buy eggs and chickens of them, for a while, at round prices; true, most of the agricultural papers strove from week to week to keep up the deceit, after the editors or proprietors found their yards over-stocked with this species of property, for which they had originally paid me (or somebody else) roundly, and which they "couldn't afford to lose," though they knew it to be valueless! True, the hen-men themselves kept their advertising and the big stories of their success constantly before "the people," whom they gulled from day to day. But no portion of the community did more to "help the cause along" than did this self-sufficient, learned, know-nothing, thin-skinned class of "wise-acres," who never chanced to make much more than a considerable out of the writer of this paragraph--I think!

Among this well-informed (?) set of men there was a "John Bull" who was connected in some way with a Boston weekly, which was nominally called an agricultural sheet, but which for several years was filled with articles upon the subject of "the equality of the sexes."

His name was Pudder, or Pucker, or Padder, as nearly as I remember. From the commencement of this fever he was sorely affected, and his articles upon the merits of the different breeds of fowls he raised were very learned and instructive! He sold eggs for three, four, or five dollars a dozen, for a few weeks; but, as they didn't hatch, his game was soon blocked. Still, he stuck to this hum with the obstinacy of a "bluenose;" and his readers were indebted to his advice for possessing themselves of the most worthless mass of trash (in the shape of poultry) that ever cursed the premises of amateur. His lauded "Plymouth Rocks," his "Fawn-colored Dorkings," his "Italians," his "Drab Shanghaes," etc., sold, however; and the poor devils who read the paper, and who purchased this stuff, lived (like a good many others) to realize, to their hearts' content, after paying this fellow for being thus humbugged, the truth of the old adage that "the fool and his money is soon parted."

Still, Podder was useful--in his way--in the hen-trade. The operations of such ignorant and wilful hucksters had the effect of opening the eyes of those who desired to obtain good stock, and who were willing to pay for it. And after they had been thus fleeced, they became cautious, and procured their poultry only of "honorable" and responsible breeders (like myself), who imported and bred nothing but known pure stock.

As late as in January, 1855, a western agricultural sheet alludes to the flaming advertisement of an old hand in this traffic, and says: "It is known to all who know anything about poultry that Mr. G---- has been an amateur breeder for about forty years, and is undoubtedly better 'posted,' in reference to domestic and fancy fowls, than any other man in America; and, beside this, he is an honest man, and has no 'axe to grind.' He has raised fowls, heretofore, solely for his own amusement; but now he proposes to accommodate the public by disposing of some of them."

This man is my "fat friend" in Connecticut,--who has bred and bought and sold as much trash, in the past ten years, as the best (or the worst) of us. Friend Brown, we could tell you a story worth two of yours, on this point! But--we forbear.