ITS THE HISXORT OF 



it. I mus' give it up. I'm too busy about something 

 else. Come — will you? I don't say anything against 

 your fowls outside ; but you know, as well as I do, that 

 you have n't got the real thing. Bennett says you have n't, 

 and everybody else says so. As to your ' importations,' 

 you never had a fowl that was imported from any further 

 off than Cape Cod, and you know it ! But that is neither 

 here nor there. / don't "care a fig how much you gouge 

 'em. All I want is to get rid of mine. If you don't buy 

 them, I shall sell them, — ■ somehow, — or give them away, 

 sure. They shan't eat me up, nohow. 



" They don't eat nothing — these fowls don't ! 0, what 

 an infernal humbug this is ! I never got much out of it, 

 though. I tell everybody what all the rest of you do, — of 

 course. But / had rather keep the same number of Suf- 

 folk pigs, anyhow, so far as that's concerned. I an't 

 afraid of your showing this letter to nobody — ha ! ha ! 

 So I don't mark it ' private.' But of all the owdacious 

 humbugs that ever this country saw, this thing is the 

 steepest, — and you know it ! 



" Write me and say what you '11 give me for my lot. I 

 won't peach on you. You can bay 'em on your own 

 terms. I want to get out of it. And you may say just 

 what you 've a mind about 'em. I '11 back you, of course. 

 Could n't you take them, and get up another fresh guy on 

 a ' new importation ' ? That 's it. Gome, now, friend 



