After
we had settled that the British Hen should be protected and encouraged,
and agreed solemnly to abstain from Danish eggs in any form, and made a
resolution stating that our loyalty to Queen Alexandra would remain
undiminished, we argued the subject of hen diet. There was a great
difference of opinion here and the discussion was heated; the honorary
treasurer standing for pulped mangold and flint grit, the chair insisting
on barley meal and randans, while one eloquent young woman declared, to
loud cries of "'Ear, 'ear!" that rice pudding and bone chips produce more
eggs to the square hen than any other sort of food. Impassioned orators
arose here and there in the audience demanding recognition for beef
scraps, charcoal, round corn or buckwheat. Foods were regarded from
various standpoints: as general invigorators, growth assisters, and egg
producers. A very handsome young farmer carried off final honours, and
proved to the satisfaction of all the feminine poultry-raisers that green
young hog bones fresh cut in the Banner Bone Breaker (of which he was the
agent) possessed a nutritive value not to be expressed in human language.
Phoebe was distinctly nervous when I rose to say a few words on poultry
breeding, announcing as my topic "Mothers, Stepmothers, Foster-Mothers,
and Incubators." Protected by the consciousness that no one in the
assemblage could possibly know me, I made a distinct success in my maiden
speech; indeed, I somewhat overshot the mark, for the Countess in the
chair sent me a note asking me to dine with her that evening.
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