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Gentleman's Magazine 1891 part 2 p.128
man had, some years back, taken a nice little crew of about
thirty sheep down to their alloted ground; but he only
brought one back. To elicit this miserable information piece
by piece - as the old man paused between spells of slicing
turnips with part of an old scythe - and to see his
countenance assume every aspect of pain, sadness, anxiety,
until the final catastrophe, which compelled him to bubble
out in shouts of mirth, perhaps slightly hysterical, was a
sight well worthy to be seen.
The rule is that if a sheep dies the man who joists it
receives the wool, the owner the horns. This latter
arrangement is a necessary safeguard, because, the horns
being branded with the shepherd's name, he knows that the
missing sheep has not been disposed of. The young flock are
not fit for market, and therefore the temptation to dispose
of them is partly removed. But I am not prepared to swear
that sheep-stealing has yet entirely disappeared.
Some of the places to which farmers are induced to send
their sheep do, in fact, turn out very poor indeed. One of
my friends, who had a confiding appearance about him, took a
flock to a man at the back-end, and set of blithely for them
in the April following. He found the number complete, but
something about them, which it does not require much
freemasonry to explain, caused him to follow them home
profoundly and sorrowfully ruminating. They were mere
skeletons; and the old country blacksmith, who, no doubt,
had passed many a remark" about them during their residence
near his smithy, threw himself in the way of the youth. "Are
they all alive, my man?" "They are." "Then they've ony just
come out bat-i'-hand." "I thought the same," said my
informant. It appears that the old smith meant, "They have
stayed in, indeed, which is something; but they have done
nothing - they have made no score." And he hinted that
sheep-owners would do well in future to inquire as to the
antecedents of the schoolmaster, whether he were a Dr.
Arnold or a Mr. Squeers.
Among the chief enemies of sheep are holes. I said that the
louk grass keeps them free from disease, and that they
thrive well upon it, and I might have added that the flocks
which inhabit swampy peat soil are free from "foot-rot." To
go further, sheep which are already infected with this
disease may be cured by turning them out upon the bog. I may
explain that there is a species of bog which is not peaty,
but of a clayey, tenacious character. It produces a grass
called by the shepherds "fluke grass": a seductive but most
pernicious food. But in the bogs are holes - how they get
there we shall perhaps see later - and when the sheep is
quietly nibbling off
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