1867. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



259 



while. Or let the coop be enlarged, while 

 little or no attention is paid to cleanliness, and 

 the result will be precisely the same. But 

 when allowed to run in large and well-con- 

 structed yards, Avith plenty of clean, fresh 

 water, and plenty of green and growing vege- 

 tables to pick at during suunner ; when their 

 roosts and their nests are kept scrupulously 

 clean and free from vermin, with good ventila- 

 tion, fowls will tiourish and repay all the care 

 bestowed upon them. Making up our minds 

 that a thing can't be done because others have 

 tried it and failed, is unworthy of us at this late 

 day. It is a very cheap argument, yet often 

 met with. 



Fifteen years ago, when I moved into the 

 "suburbs," I thought I must have some hens, 

 to complete the rural picture. At first I tried 

 the picking up theory, but I very soon found 

 that this would not do. I got no eggs of any 

 account. And besides, my neighbors were 

 after me. Their gardens, as well as my own, 

 couldn't stand the mischief. 



Then I tried the shutting up ; had a yard 

 made a little larger than a barn-door, with 

 nice nests, and all that. And I know the fowls 

 did not suffer for food, either. All this occu- 

 pied three years. But still the eggs were not 

 plenty. 



After a while a friend from the city came 

 out to sup with me. Of course I had to f^how 

 him my garden and descant upon its merits. 

 The crop of pears — and a splendid crop it was 

 — pleased him wonderfully, and he compliment- 

 ed me highly. To my surprise, he knew the 

 names of every variety as well as I did. As I 

 had taken him for a "novice," this puzzled me 

 not a little. However, I afterwards found out 

 that he was a constant visitor at the Horticul- 

 tural Society's rooms, in the city, and had a 

 good memory to back his good sense. I took 

 him to see my poultry, too ; but here his com- 

 pliments were not profuse. He asked me in a 

 quiet way, I remember, if my hens laid well. 

 1 told iiim frankly that they did not. "Well," 

 he replied, "they would be fools if they did, in 

 such a place as this !" 



I felt nettled at his frank criticism, for I had 

 flattered myself that I took excellent care of my 

 biddies. He must have noticed ray confusion, 

 for he at once went on in his good-natured 

 way to offer me some hints in regard to the 

 business. Confound the fellow, I don't be- 

 lieve he ever raised a hen in his life. He was 

 one of your blackboard farmers. But he had 

 an eye like a hawk, was a great reader, and a 

 keen observer ; and I at once saw that he was 

 au fait on the subject of poultry as well as pears. 



"You see," he said, "hens are living, breath- 

 ing creatures, just like men and women, and 

 they want fresh air. They can't get it here. 

 Then look at that dirty water ; possibly they 

 drink it, because they are obliged to. Just 

 look here," and as he said this, he directed 

 my attention to the roost, "see the vermin!" 



I will not go through the entire lecture ; the 

 above is a fair specimen of the whole. Sudice 

 it to say, it did its work elfectually ; or rather, 

 it put me in the way of doing mine. The dif- 

 ficulty stared me in the face as plain as day. 

 And as soon as my friend was on board the 

 cars to go home, 1 began to arrange for a revo- 

 lution about my hen-house. I had my yard 

 enlarged ten-fold. The old nests, which had 

 been constructed stationary, were removed, 

 and movable ones were put up, so that every 

 inch of the room could be occasionally cleaned 

 and white-washed. Then the fowls were made 

 to roost in the barn-cellar, which was warm, 

 light enough, and well ventilated. 



I will not tire you with details, but only say, 

 that my success was perfect and satisfactory. 

 My hens at once become profitable, and yet 

 I did not do all that might have been done to 

 make them so. 



"N. S. T." is shy about coming up to the 

 main question in my plea. He doesn't men- 

 tion a word about the "reasonable and profita- 

 ble course" pursued by the gentleman in Man- 

 ville, mentioned in a late Farmer. He en- 

 closed an acre and a quarter of land with a 

 high fence, and in that yard he kept about one 

 hundred and fifty hens. During nine months 

 of the year he tells us these fowls gave him a 

 net profit of two dollars a day. My question 

 was, why couldn't another &ivm\ax yard be con- 

 structed alongside, for a like number of fowls, 

 and double pi'ofit be gained ? If not, ivhy not ? 

 The second yard would cost less than the first, 

 and it would be less labor, proportionally, to 

 attend to two yards than one. 



A single point more and I will close. Your 

 correspondent offers the proposition that hens, 

 being quite modest, when obliged to lay in 

 nests which are used by other hens, become 

 (juite obstinate and indifferent about laying at 

 all. Does he seriously mean this? That, 

 through good care and good keeping, we can 

 stimulate prolification, all will admit; but, 

 this being done, I have yet to learn that na- 

 ture's work can be, substantially, arrested at 

 the effort of either the hen's modestyor her ob- 

 stinacy. Equally absurd is it to talk about 

 her laying eggs to repay the kindness of her 

 master for feeding her. She cares not a rush 

 for her master or her mistress, either. She 

 lays because it is nature's work, and always 

 "without a thought of repaying" any mortal's 

 kindness. If seriously put forward, both 

 these propositions may be set down, very safe- 

 ly, as "blackboard" physiology. 



Nor do I at all agree with "N. S. T.," when 

 he Intimates that the Creator has interposed 

 any bar to the progress of his children in any 

 direction except that which pertains to absolute 

 impossibility. We live in a world of progress. 

 We do not know as much as our descendants 

 will, a hundi'ed years hence, by a great deal. 

 They will look back upon us and our ways 

 and wonder at our simple ideas ; while they, 



