436 

few parties have undertaken of late to establish—for the 
amusement of the older heads, and the gulling of newer 
hands in the poultry fancy. But I must not trench upon 
the errors of past days. Somebody has recently said in your 
paper, or some other good poultry journal, ‘there is no 
humbug in the chicken trade, nowadays.” And I am glad 
to learn this. (?) 
The object of this, my first paper, now written for the 
Fanciers’ Journal, is to simply open the general subject which 
the title to my article above indicates, or points at; and 
which, by your leave, I will, from week to week, continue 
briefly. I make no doubt these short papers will amuse and 
interest the fancy generally, and do good, I hope—as I in- 
tend they shall—without giving offence to any one, since 
they will be of a general, and not of a personal character ; 
which latter form of discussion is neither polite, interesting, 
profitable, nor necessary in this enlightened day. 
But I have bred poultry fifteen years, or more. I have 
read every author that has written books on this entertain- 
ing subject—from Columella, Reaumer, Jacque, down to 
Tegetmeier, Burnham, and Wright—and I am intimately 
acquainted (as you know) with all the minutiae of the fancy 
in America thoroughly. I shall, therefore, be able to make 
myself readable, no doubt. I only ask that these papers be 
accepted for their actual value; and, in my next, I will 
consider some points which a New England correspondent 
of another paper has recently broached, in connection with 
the subject that is embodied in the heading of this series of 
contributions. 
New York, 1874. 


HOW FOWLS ARE MADE TO PAY. 
One of our contemporaries lately recommended farmers 
to be more economical; to buy no more broadcloths for 
themselves, no more silks for their wives, no more ribbons 
for their daughters. We join in recommending economy ; 
but by economy we mean good management—the making 
the most of what we have; not parsimony, the denying the 
comforts or elegancies of life. The department in which, 
we venture to say, with all due submission, more economy 
might be exercised, or in other words, better management 
might be displayed, is the breeding and rearing of fowls, 
and with this object in view, we subjoin some advice from 
a book published in London ashort time ago. It is entitled, 
‘‘ How the French Muke Fowls Pay,” and is an answer to 
the question how France, the land of omelettes and fricas- 
sees, could export to England every year six hundred mil- 
lions of eggs and thousands of tons of poultry. 
The secret of the success of the French lies in early hatch- 
ing, good feeding, and early killing, and a good choice of 
stock, 
For table purposes the Brahmas, or Brahmas crossed with 
Dorkings, are recommended ; for egg-laying none can in 
quantity or quality surpass the Hamburg. The French 
Houdans possess the desirable merit of fattening quickly ; 
the Spanish are good summer layers; the Cochins and 
Brahmas good winter layers. For general purposes the 
breeds to be commended are Brahmas, Houdans, and Ham- 
burgs. 
We think that less depends upon the breeds chosen to 
stock the fowl house than on the treatment the fowls receive. 
One great object to be kept in view is to have eggs in win- 
ter, when the price is high. To promote winter laying a 
morning and evening meal should be given. Buckwheat is 

FANCIERS’ JOURNAL AND POULTRY EXCHANGE. 

very good ; it contains a spirit, and is therefore stimulating ; 
the mid-day meal should be of cooked vegetable and animal 
food. One of the most successful egg-raisers we ever knew 
used to stir up all his.fowls and give them a hot meal the 
last thing before he went to bed. To insure winter laying 
the hens must be kept warm. Liberal feeding will be 
lost labor unless the fowls are well housed ; extra warmth 
both inwardly and outwardly is required in winter to 
make up for the carbon which then goes to supply the 
frame with heat; therefore, while in spring and summer 
the hens can be allowed to run around and forage for them- 
selves, in winter warmth and stimulating food must be sup- 
plied. 
Always keep the stock young, and hatch early. Pullets 
hatched in March or early in April, if well fed, will begin 
to lay in six months, and lay all through the winter, if well 
housed. A pullet from beginning to lay should give 190 eggs 
in the next twelve months; before moulting time she ought 
to be fattened for a fortnight, and will weigh in the market 
4} pounds. Never keep old fowls; they eat as much as 
young ones, do not lay as well, and are a great deal tougher. 
The earlier chickens are hatched the better they thrive; 
they get over their moult in warm weather, and have the 
summer to mature them. The male fowls should be killed 
at four months; they do not improve in winter, and at nine 
months old will not pay for their keep. It is advisable to 
hatch more roosters than pullets. The way to know the 
eggs which will produce this sex is as old as our Ro- 
man friend Columella; choose eggs with pointed ends, hay- 
ing the air cavity at the apex at the blunt ends and not 
towards the side.—Inter-Ocean. 

A PLUCKY HEN. 
WE want a new Henriade. The heroine—or as Charles 
Lamb would have mildly corrected us, the sheroine—is a 
hen who made herself famous in the Mill River flood. She 
has put out of joint—to employ the slang of the nursery—the 
noses of two persons hitherto famous, Archimedes, and the 
hen that insisted on laying her daily egg on the best bed in 
Mr. Beecher’s farm-house. Everybody has heard how Ar- 
chimedes sat and brooded on his mathematical conundrums in 
the very midst of the hurly-burly of Syracuse siege, and how 
the hatch and disclose of his abstraction did prove some 
danger to him in the shape of a cracked crown. We would 
repeat the story of Mr. Beecher’s hen, if the poet-preacher 
had not already told it in his own inimitably delightful 
way. We believe it originally came in as an episode in a 
sermon of his, ‘‘On the Perseverance of the Saints.”’ But 
our Mill River hen set a larger example than did this tem- 
pestuous creature, and in a nobler way. We know few 
details of her history. Biddy, we suppose, was her name, 
and America her nation; Williamsburg was her dwelling- 
place; and, as the sequel will show, presence of mind was 
her salvation. She had laid seventeen eggs in a barrel, and, 
having done her level best in that line, she was sitting on 
them when the mill dam burst. In spite of her teeth the 
flood bore her along with the awful wreck ; with houses and 
barns, trees and fences, and the bodies of men and beasts. 
But this steadfast creature never stirred. She knew that 
Massachusetts expected every hen to do her duty. She was 
clear grit. So long as her barrel kept out of water she 
would be hanged if she would drown. No one of her sex 
ever had such confidence in hoops. ‘Sink or swim,’’ she 
