THE COTTAGE GARDENER AND COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, Octobbb 5, 1858. 
15 
vvaa granted ; and, now, years after, I wonder at the pationoo 
displayed towards me. 
Woo, woo, woe! My gun was not discharged; my dog 
was untried ; all my new shooting clothes were unsoiled. I 
had bargained for getting wet in the feet and legs, and I had 
anticipated tho pleasure of finding all necessary changes pro¬ 
vided, and ready aired, by my dear, good wife; and the 
merry dinner, and the talk of the day’s sport over the wine. 
I had promised my partner just one line, to tell him how 1 
had shot, &c., and all was a blank. It was not made better 
by the remark of my father-in-law, that he was very sorry for 
the disappointment, but the rain was much wanted, and would 
do vast good. Another hour passed, and my wife timidly ob- 
. served, I might as well change my clothes and dress for 
dinner. There was nothing to offend in this, but I am afraid 
1 was very cross. Still it rained faster and faster ; some of 
the company could not come. We were ready for dinner an 
hour before the time; nine sat down to provisions for sixteen. 
I was glum, and disappointed ; my wife was silent; and, in¬ 
stead of a joyous reunion, we had a silent dinner. 
I slipped from the table many times in the evening, to see 
how the weather looked, and was delighted to find it brighter 
each time. I gradually recovered myself, and at last could 
cheerfully bear a question from my brother-in-law, whether I 
would not like a shot or two by moonlight. 
Everything, however, that interfered between me and my 
hobby was a nuisance, and I was glad when it was time to go 
to bed. If I could but sleep, the morning would come tho 
'sooner. I woke before daybreak, and could not close my eyes 
again, nor would the daylight come soon enough. I see 
some of my readers laugh. I hear them call me a sorry 
fellow. I know I toll the truth. Speak you who havo 
panted for years for a day’s Partridge shooting ; speak you 
good, patient wives, who have had to bear all 1 describe, tell 
the whole truth,—were you not tired of the sound of shooting, 
and all that it concerned ? Did you not suffer broken rest, 
fropi the anxiety of your partner ? I am afraid we often 
laugh at things, and shake our heads knowingly, when, if we 
told the truth, we should admit wo were ourselves guilty of 
the practises we condescended to pity in others. 
But at last, hours before our usual time of rising, there 
was a gleam of light in the east. The rain had ceased, and 
my first day’s shooting had begun. I was at the door with 
everything that could be suggested or thought of, in the way 
of dress or equipment, and walked about for an hour waiting 
for my brother-in-law, who at last appeared, but, to my 
horror, was not yet ready. “ Come my dear fellow,” said I, 
“ we shall not start to-day.” 
“ Time enough,” was his answer. “ I have ordered an early 
breakfast, and we will start directly afterwards.” 
“What!” said I, aghast; “You mean to breakfast first ? ” 
“ Certainly, I always make it a rule. Do not be afraid, the 
day will be long enough to tire you.” I doubted this, but 
there was no cure for it, but to submit, We breakfasted. I 
did not think tea the right beverage for such an occasion, 
and, therefore, asked for some home-brewed beer. I could 
drink that, but I could not eat, although pressed to do so. 
My brother-in-law took his meal with a stoicism that surprised 
me, and I hardly know whether I pitied or envied his in- 
differcnco. He seemed a long time at it; but everything 
must have an end, and he finished it. Now I was on the 
threshold of my enjoyment. The man who was to accompany 
us was at the door, leading my dog. I was somewhat proud 
of my materiel, and anxious to see what an old hand like 
my brother-in-law would think necessary for the day. First, 
I compared his gun with mine. It was a plain and rather 
heavy one, the polish on the stock was the worse for wear, 
and the barrels had little trace of browning left; it was, how¬ 
ever, scrupulously clean. Mine, on the other hand, was as 
bright as the day it left the maker’s hands. Noting the dif¬ 
ference, I handed it to him. “ Look at that,” said I. “I 
would not change,” was the reply. Ilis powder-flask was 
an old one, while mine was not only new, but of the most 
modern and approved construction. My greatest astonish¬ 
ment was, however, reserved for the quantity of shot he carried. 
One pouch of 3 lbs., and that not quite full. 1 had, by great 
seeking, found one that held 4 lbs., and I had also secured a 
dozen charges, which gave mo twenty-four shots in reserve. 
My brother-in-law borrowed four of these, and gave his 
pouch to his man to carry. He advised me to do tho same, 
but I declined. “ / liked,” I said, “ to be independent when 
I was out, and could carry my own when I was shooting.” 
This caused'a smile, but I was more astonished to find he 
had none of the appliances I thought so necessary. No con¬ 
trivance for his caps, — they were loose in his waistcoat 
pocket. Then, he had no turnsorew, no nipple-screw, no 
picker. In fact, ho had only gun, caps, wadding, powder, 
and shot. I asked him if he did not think my arrangements 
necessary. Ilis answer was, “ Yes, if ho were a settler in the 
backwoods.” 
We started. “Now,” said my brother-in-law, “this rough 
moor is sure to be full of birds. Your dog is tolerably steady 
without the gun, do you know whether he can be depended 
upon?”—“I have no doubt,” answered I. The fact is, I 
relied on tho warranty. 
He stood the moment we entered the field. We walked 
up. Two birds fell to my brother-in-law’s gun ; I missed 
both shots. Excusable at first, thought I; and was quietly 
preparing to reload, when I was disturbed by cries of “ Tip,” 
“ Tippoo,” “Tip,” hi every note that could express anger. 
The moment the guns were discharged he rushed all over the 
field, with stern erect, and, spite of threats or coaxing, 
never stopped till he had driven every bird away. 
GAPES IN CHICKENS. 
Insignificant as the subject may appear, and unworthy 
perhaps, of an illustration, I nevertheless suggest the pro¬ 
mulgation of the only mode by which a “ poor, gaping chicken” 
may be as effectually cured of his malady as he is likely to 
die without the use of the means I propose. I do not mean 
to palm off this mode as a novelty in tho “ barndoor practice 
but, though farmers may not be ignorant of the means, I find 
the manner of using them is necessary to be taught, to re¬ 
move tho difficulty in question, as well as special knowledge 
is necessary in tho amputation of a limb. 
Farmers neglect to acquaint themselves with this manner 
.of cure, either from suspicions that it is impracticable, or that 
they are incapable of effecting a cure themselves. If my 
prescriptions are strictly followed, chickens cannot die with 
the gapes under the treatment, let them try never so hard. 
I regard all medicines for the gapes as really fool nostrums. 
In making the trial with the horsehair, some difficulty is at 
first experienced in holding the head of the chicken still while 
performing the operation, as the windpipe is very sensitive; 
lienee I have sketched the position of the fingers in which the 
head may bo firmly held without harm to tho chicken. While 
in this position its windpipe may be seen, and the sole cause 
of its distress. If the rays of the sun are permitted to fall 
upon its throat, the worms are more distinctly seen. 
The horsehair is tied in the manner shown in the drawing, 
and is most expedient, as other knots cause the loop o to 
deviate from a straight fine A and B, making it difficult to 
introduce into the windpipe. The loop is about half an inch 
long, and must be rolled between the thumb and finger to 
make it angular, as at o. The introduction of the hair must 
first be by a quick push, and be kept in its place until it can be 
forced down, lest the coughing of the chicken should expel it. 
It should be put down about an inch and a half, and twisted 
