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 END.
Footnotes
[1] After a hen had set over four weeks on her nest, I should suppose she might have been thus affected!
[2] O, the cannibal!