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."