A GENUINE HUMBUG.
[Illustration: 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."
[This gentleman had forgotten, or didn't know (or thought _I_ didn't),
that the port of Shanghae had been open to communication with this
country only a dozen years or less; and so I permitted him to proceed in
his remarks without offering any opposition to his assumption.]
"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.