Just after my failure, and on account of the ill-health of my wife, I spent a portion of the summer with my family in the farmhouse of Mr. Charles Howell, at Westhampton, on Long Island. The place is a mile west of Quogue, and was then called “Ketchebonneck.” The thrifty and intelligent farmers of the neighborhood were in the habit of taking summer boarders, and the place had become a favorite resort. Mr. Howell’s farm lay close upon the ocean and I found the residence a cool and delightful one. Surf bathing, fishing, shooting and fine roads for driving made the season pass pleasantly and the respite from active life and immediate annoyance from my financial troubles was a very great benefit to me. Our landlord was an eccentric character, who took great pleasure in showing me to his friends and neighbors as “the Museum man,” and consequently, as a great curiosity; for in his estimation, the American Museum was chief among the institutions of New York. He was in a habit of gathering shells and such rarities as came within his reach, which he took to the city and disposed of at the Museum. He often spoke of certain phenomena in his neighborhood, which he thought would take well with the public, if they were properly brought out. One day he said: “Mr. Barnum, I am going to Moriches this morning, and I want you to go along with me and see a great curiosity there is there.” “What is it?” I asked. “It is a man who has got a natural ‘honk’” replied Howell, “and it is worth fifty dollars a year to him.” “A what?” I inquired. “A honk! a honk! a perfectly natural honk! he makes fifty dollars a year out of it,” Howell reiterated. I could not comprehend what a “honk” was, but concluded that if it was worth fifty dollars a year among the Long Island fishermen and farmers who could hardly be expected to pay much for mere sight-seeing, it would be much more valuable to exhibit in the Museum. So I remarked that as I was authorized by Messrs. Greenwood and Butler to purchase curiosities for them, I would go with him and buy the honk from its possessor if I could get it at a reasonable price. “Buy it!” exclaimed Howell; “I guess you can’t buy it! You don’t seem to understand me; the man has got a natural honk, I tell you; that is, he honks exactly like a wild goose; when flocks are flying over he goes out and honks and the geese, supposing that some goose has settled and is honking for the rest of the flock to come down and feed, all fly towards the ground and he ‘lets into ’em’ with his gun, thus killing a great many, and in this way his honk is worth fifty dollars a year to him, and perhaps more.” I decided not to attempt to buy the “honk,” but my eagerness to do so and my entire ignorance of the character of the curiosity furnished food for laughter to Howell and his neighbors for a long time.