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The History of the Hen Fever. A Humorous Record
Poor fellows! Poor, deluded, crazy, reckless dupes! You have had your fun, many of you, and you will now have the opportunity to reflect over the ruins that are piled up around you; while, for the time being, you may well exclaim, with the sulky and flunkey Moor,
"Othello's occupation's gone!"CHAPTER XLVI.
A MOURNFUL PROCESSION
I was sitting before my comfortable library fire in midwinter, 1854, and had been reflecting upon the mutability of human affairs generally, and the uncertainty of Shanghae-ism more particularly, when I finally dropped into a gentle slumber in my easy-chair, where I dozed away an hour, and dreamed.
My thoughts took a very curious turn. I fancied myself sitting before a large window that opened into a broad public street, in which I suddenly discovered a multitude of people moving actively about; and I thought it was some gala-day in the city, for the throng appeared to be excited and anxious. "The people" were evidently abroad; and the crowds finally packed themselves along the sidewalks, leaving the wide street open and clear; and I could overhear the words "They're coming!" "Here they are!"
I looked out, and beheld an immense gathering of human beings approaching in a line that stretched away as far as the eye could reach, – a dense mass of moving mortality, that soon arrived, and passed the window, beneath me. I was alone in the room, and could ask no questions. I could only see what occurred before me; and I noted down, as they passed by, this motley procession, which moved in the following
Order of MarchEscort of IndescribablesHatless Aid. [ Chief Marshal in Black.] Bootless AidPolice. Two Ex-Mormons in White Tunics. PoliceCalathumpian Band
[The good this association had accomplished was borne along by a stout "practical farmer," in a small thimble; the records of its doings were inscribed on a huge roll of paper, 16,000 yards long, carried upon a truck drawn by twelve yoke of "pure" Devon oxen.]
Banner. – Motto: "Ourselves and those who vote for us."
The scene was closing! That immense concourse of humbugs and humbugged had passed on, and I was alone once more. But, a moment afterwards, I saw the head and face of a comical and good-humored looking Yankee (just beneath the window), who was in the act of puffing into the air a huge budget of bubbles, that danced and floated in the atmosphere for a brief moment, and which, bursting, suddenly awoke me. Here is a sketch of the finale.
CHAPTER XLVII.
MY SHANGHAE DINNER
I saw by the papers, one day, late in the year 1854, an account of the return from England of my fat friend Giles, who brought with him the poultry purchased abroad for Mr. Barnum, and which proved to be a lot of pure stock, of a remarkable character, as I supposed it would be.
But, while John was absent in Great Britain, the knowing ones there shook him down, beautifully! His theory, when he left America, four months previously, was that "hall 'at was wanted 'ere was to get hover from Hingland pure-bred fowls, and such would sell." John brought over "such," and they did sell; but Barnum was sold by far the worst!
An auction was immediately got up at the American Museum, in New York; and after a vast deal of drumming, puffing and advertising this magnificent, just-imported, pure-bred poultry, the sale came off, to a sorry company, indeed! And the gross amount of the sales of the fowls thus disposed of, really, was insufficient to pay the freight bills for bringing them across the Atlantic, to say nothing of their original high cost abroad. The show-man has since left the hen-business, I learn, "a wiser if not a better man;" while John retired with the simple exclamation, "Most extr'ornerry result I hever 'eer'd of in hall my life!"
Soon after this little episode occurred, the second show of the "National Poultry Society" (in January, 1855) came off at Barnum's Museum, in New York; which, notwithstanding the best endeavors of the "President," was a failure. The "Committee" shut out of their premium list the Grey Shanghaes, altogether; and the result of this last exhibition was just what I had anticipated. But Mr. Barnum can well afford to foot the bills; and, as he is perfectly willing to do this, no objection will be raised to his choice, I presume. This final exhibition at New York, I have no doubt, closed up the business, for the present.
As soon as this last fair had closed, and when the lucky and unlucky contributors returned to Boston, I invited a party of my former confrères to my residence, to dinner. I had been preparing for this little event for several days; and the following was the actual "bill of fare" to which we all sat down, at Russet House, Melrose, on the fifth day of February, 1855:
To this repast, with thankful hearts, a company of five-and-twenty sat down, and, as nearly as my recollection now serves me, the friends did ample justice to my Shanghae dinner. After two hours over the varied dishes (varied in size and style of cooking only), the cloth was removed, and the intellectual treat commenced with a song, written "expressly for this occasion," by the Young 'Un, which was delivered with admirable effect by "one who had been there," and in the chorus of which the guests unitedly joined, with surprising harmony and unison. The following toasts were then submitted:
By the Man in the Black Coat.– The Memory of the defunct Rooster we have this day devoured: Peace to his manes! (Drank standing, in silence.)
By a Successful Breeder.– The health, long life, and prosperity, of our absent cash customers, – at home and abroad.
By an Amateur.– Honor to the discoverer of the exact difference between a "Shanghae" and a "Cochin-China" fowl, if he shall ever turn up!
By the "Confidence" Man.– The Continuity of the beautifully-elongated Chinese fowls: May their shadows never be less!
By a Victim.– The Bother'em Wot-yer-call-'ems: Dammum! (Nine cheers for Doctors Bennett and Miner.)
By a Disappointed "Fancier."– Barn-yard fowls and white-shelled eggs, for my money. (Three cheers for the old-style biddies.)
By the Youth in a White Vest.– "Fanny Fern": The hen that lays the golden eggs. (Six cheers for Fanny, and the fair sex generally.)
By a Repentant.– The whole Shanghae Tribe: Curse 'em; the more fowls you see of this race, the less eggs there are about! (This was deemed slightly personal, but it was permitted to pass; the gentleman spoke with unusual feeling; he had been only three years in the trade, and had expended some sixteen hundred dollars in experimenting with a view to establish a breed that would lay two eggs daily.)
By One of my "Friends."– The Young 'Un: The only hen-man who has put the knife in up to the handle with a decent grace! (Nine cheers followed, for the importer of the only pure-bred poultry in America.)
This last sentiment called me to my feet, naturally enough; and, as nearly as I remember, I thus addressed my guests, amidst the most marked and respectful attention:
"Gentlemen: I think I have seen it written somewhere, or I have heard it said, 'It is a long lane that has no turn in it.' I believe, however, that, although the lane we have most of us been travelling for the last six years has proved somewhat tortuous as well as lengthy, we have now passed the turn in it, and have arrived very nearly at the end of the road.
"Few of you, gentlemen, have met with so many thorns, en route, as I have; none of you, perhaps, have gathered so many roses. I am content, and I trust that everybody is as well satisfied with the results of this journey as I am. The Shanghae trade is done, gentlemen! We have this day eaten up what, four years ago, would have been the nucleus, at least, of a small fortune to any one of us who at that time might have chanced to have possessed it. But the fever is over; the demand for giraffe cocks and chaise-top hens is passed; the 'poor remains of beauty once admired, in my premium fowls,' now lie scattered about the dishes that have just left this table; and 'Brahma-pootra-ism' is now no longer rampant.
"Perhaps, gentlemen, as you entertain opinions of your own upon this delightfully pleasing subject of poultry-raising generally, and of the propagation of Shanghae fowls in particular, you would care to hear nothing of my views regarding this point. Yet, I pray you, indulge me for a single moment – in all seriousness – and permit me to say (without the slightest intention of being personal), that we have proved ourselves a clan of short-sighted mortals, at the best, during the last half-dozen years, in our crazy devotion to what we have deemed an honorable and laudable 'profession,' but which has been, in reality, the most shallow, heartless, unreasonable, silly and bottomless humbug that grown-up men have ever been cajoled with, since the hour when Adam was fooled by the accomplished and coquetting Eve!" (Cries of "You're more'n half right!" "That's a fact!" "Exactly – just so!")
"There is now living in Melrose, Mass., gentlemen, a breeder who begun at the beginning of this excitement, who has since followed up the details of this hum with a zeal worthy of a better cause; and who has accumulated a handsome competency in this traffic, by attending strictly to his own affairs, while he has uniformly acted upon the principle that this world is sufficiently capacious to accommodate all God's creatures, without jostling. If you should chance to meet this now retired fowl-fancier, he will tell you that he has had, and believes he still has, many personal friends; but the very best 'friend' he has ever known is the enjoyment of his present income of eight per cent. interest, per annum, upon thirty thousand dollars. But this is a digression, and I beg pardon for the allusion.
"I look back with no regrets at the past, gentlemen. We have seen a great many merry days, and, in the midst of the competition and humbuggery in which we enlisted, we have often differed in sentiment. But here, – at the close of the route on which we have so long been journeying, – let us remember only the good traits that we any of us possess, while from this point we forget the errors that ourselves and our companions may have committed, forever." (Three times three, "and one more," were here given for the speaker, his friends, and all the rest of mankind.)
"I will say no more, gentlemen. My stomach is too full for further convenient utterance; and I will conclude with a sentiment to which, I am sure, you will all respond. I will give you —
"'The Hen Fever!'" —
"Don't, don't!" shrieked the crowd. "We've had that disease once, and that is quite sufficient."
"Indulge me, gentlemen, one moment, and I will propose, then —
"'The Hen Trade: Though a fowl calling, it puts fair money in the purse, when "judiciously" managed. May none of you ever do worse, pecuniarily, in this humble "profession," than has your friend – the subscriber.'"
Another round of hearty cheers succeeded this sentiment, a parting bumper was enjoyed, and the circle separated, to meet again at Philippi, – or elsewhere, – where the author hopes to encounter only friendly faces, whatever may have been his business relations with his acquaintances in the days that are now passed away.
The mania is over. I have frankly repeated to you the humble history of this curious fever, and we have reached
THE END1
After a hen had set over four weeks on her nest, I should suppose she might have been thus affected!
2
O, the cannibal!
3
I never heard from this customer again, and should now be glad to know if he ever got his "munney"!
4
Here was a "lawyer," who knew the difference between a Cochin-China and a Shanghae!
5
This was the kind of gentleman I loved to fall in with.
6
Some persons would consider this personal!
7
I would liked to have seen the dealer that could "fule" this customer more than "twict."
8
I informed this purchaser that I could send him a pair which, if they "couldn't eat off the tops" of his flour-barrels, I'd warrant would eat up the contents of one as quickly as he could desire!
9
"This gigantic bird," says Richardson, a noted English writer, "is very prolific, frequently laying two, and occasionally three eggs on the same day!" And, in support of this monstrous assertion, he subsequently refers, as his authority for this statement (which was called in question), to the "Rt. Hon. Mr. Shaw, Recorder of Dublin, to Mr. Walters, Her Majesty's poultry-keeper, and to J. Joseph Nolan, Esq., of Dublin." This was, in my opinion, one of the hums of the time, and I never had occasion to change that opinion. I do not believe the hen that really laid two eggs in one day ever lived to do it a second time! I have heard of this thing, however. But I never knew of the instance, myself.
10
I never found, in my limited experience in this business, any particular necessity for attempting to prove anything. "The people" wanted fowls – not proofs!
11
I trust that this association may not be confounded with the "Fort Des Moines Iowa Company." The difference will plainly be seen, of course.
12
This article was originally published in the New York Spirit of the Times, substantially, and was afterwards issued in an edition of my fugitive literary productions, by Getz & Buck, of Philadelphia, in a volume entitled "Stray Subjects."
13
This was the kind of customer I met with occasionally, and whom I always took at his word. The gentleman who "didn't care about price" was always the man after my own heart.
14
Certainly – of course. The express agents had nothing else to do but to "feed and water" fowls "three times a day" on the way!
15
We have found it a very comfortable "rage," thank you!
16
Since this was written, I find in the Country Gentleman a communication from L.F. Allen, Esq., on this very subject, in which he says that "A correspondent desires to know how to build a chicken-house for 'about one thousand fowls.' If my poor opinion is worth anything, he will not build it at all. Fowls, in any large number, will not thrive. Although I have seen it tried, I never knew a large collection of several hundred fowls succeed in a confined place. I have known sundry of these enterprises tried; but I never knew one permanently successful. They were all, in turn, abandoned." The thing is entirely impracticable.