No. 23.
Mr. Barman. Dear Sir: I see in the Poultry Books that the Cotchin-China fowls lays two eggs every day,[9] and sometimes three a-day. I have hens that lays two eggs a-day, frequenly, but I want to get the breed that will lay three eggs a-day, reglar. If you have got anny of the Cotchins that you know lays three eggs a-day, I would like to get a few, at a fair price. I don't pay no fancy prices for 'em, though. The hen fever won't larst forever, I don't believe; and then when its busted up, what's the fowls good for, even if they do lay three eggs a-day? Let me hear from you,—but don't send any fowls unless you are sure they lay three eggs every day!
Yours, &c.,
—— ——.
No. 24.
Mr. Burnham.—Sir: I am a gentleman, and I have no disposition to be fractious. I sent you twelve dollars, in a letter, for a dozen "Cotchin" eggs, and I set them. After waiting twenty-three days, I found two grizzled-colored chickens in the nest yesterday, both of them with huge top-knots on their polls! What does this mean? Am I to be swindled out of my money thus? By return of mail if you do not refund my money, if I live I will prosecute you, if it costs me a thousand dollars. You may rely on this. I am not a man to be trifled with, and I refer you to Messrs. —— & ——, who know me; you evidently do not!
In haste,
—— ——.
[I did not reply to this spicy favor, because, if the gentleman really was not a "fractious" man, I imagined he would like his pure-bred chickens better as they grew up; and, besides, I could afford to wait for "a gentleman" to cool off. I never heard from him, afterwards; and concluded that he didn't live to carry out his laudable intention of expending a thousand dollars in prosecuting me! I trust that, before he departed, he became hopefully pious. Peace to his manes!]
No. 25.
Sir: Them fouls you sent me, got the sore-hed. I gin em tuppentyn and unyuns and brandy, but it want no use. The poletry books sed so, and I follered the direction, and it killed 'em both deader'n thunder, in one night! Now you've gut my mony, and I haint narry fowls. What'll I do? Don't you think this a pooty impersition? Send me another pear, to once—if you don't want fits.
In haist,
—— ——.
[I sent this man "another pear,"—only I didn't!]
CHAPTER XIII.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE QUESTION.
The foregoing are only a very few samples of hundreds upon hundreds of similar letters I constantly received, for nearly five years.
All the blame occasioned by careless express-men, of false blood imposed upon me originally, of tardy hens, of the hatching or non-hatching of eggs transported hundreds of miles, of feathered legs upon chickens, or the absence of them, of every species of mishap that could by any possibility befall the fancier and amateur, through his own ignorance or errors,—every kind of mistake was charged to me! But, with a Christian meekness, I bore it all.