"Suppose we give that turkey some whiskey and water; it may help
him."

"Can't do him any harm, fur he'll die anyway; but it's a waste of
good medicine."

Soaking some bread in good, strong Scotch, diluted with very
little water, we gave the turkey what was equivalent to a
teaspoonful. The bird did not take unkindly to the mixture. It had
been standing about all day first on one leg, then on another,
with eyes half closed and head turned feebly to one side. In a few
moments the effect of the whiskey became apparent; the half-grown
bird could no longer stand on one leg, but used both, placing them
well apart for support. It began to show signs of animation,
peering about with first one eye and then the other; with great
gravity and deliberation it made its way to the centre of the road
and looked about for gravel; fixing its eye upon an attractive
little pebble it aimed for it, missed it by about two inches and
rolled in the dust; by this time the other turkeys were staring in
amazement; slowly pulling itself together he shook the dust from
his feathers, cast a scornful eye upon the crowd about him and
looked again for the pebble; there it was within easy shot; taking
good aim with one eye closed he made another lunge, ploughed his
head into the dust, making a complete somersault. By this time the
two old turkeys were attracted by the unusual excitement; making
their way through the throng of youngsters, they gazed for a
moment upon the downfall of one of their progeny, and then giving
vent to their indignation in loud cries pounced upon their tipsy
offspring and pecked him until he struggled upright and staggered
away. The last we saw of the young scapegrace he was smoothing his