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Updated: May 11, 2025
Take, for instance, the slight error of my friend who, having made such expenditure in Colon, by a slip of the pen, or to be nice, of the typewriter, sent in among three score and ten items the following: Feb. 4/ 2 bots beer; Cristobal........50c
A good many bots got carried away from the schooners, and one dory with two men from Boothbay was picked up by one of these ocean-steamers bound in for New York, and that's the way the yarn got told. They'd been withaout food and water for three days, and were abaout givin' up; but the steamer-folks tuck 'em in and steamed for port.
I tell you, she sent a plague on his sheep, the plague of the Bots. The whole flock died; I remember it well. Some said the sheep would have had the Bots anyhow. Some said it was the spell. Which of them was right? How am I to settle it?" "Did you mention this to Miss de Sor?" "I was obliged to mention it. Didn't I tell you, just now, that I can't make up my mind about Witchcraft?
I have known some kill'd on the Salts in January, that have had abundance of Bots in their Throat, which keep them very poor. As the Summer approaches, these Bots come out, and turn into the finest Butterfly imaginable, being very large, and having black, white, and yellow Stripes. Deer-Skins are one of the best Commodities Carolina affords, to ship off for England, provided they be large.
At one time of the Year, great Bots or Maggots breed betwixt the Skin and the Flesh of these Creatures. They eat just as the English ones do; but I never saw one of them fat. We fire the Marshes, and then kill abundance. I cannot believe, these are Natives of the Country, any otherwise than that they might come from aboard some Wreck; the Sea not being far off.
My uncle blind, and afflicted with the bots, the ringbone and the spring-halt wanders about the commons, trying to persuade somebody to shoot him. And here I stand, old and sick, to cry out against the wrongs of horses the saddles that gall, the spurs that prick, the snaffles that pinch, the loads that kill.
It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded: ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?
Generally the almanac which presented the claims of a "pectoral" also had a "salve" that was "sovereign for burns" and some of them humanely took into account the ills of farm animals and presented a cure for bots or a liniment for spavins. I spent a great deal of time with these publications and to them a large part of my education is due.
I shouted, hurrying under the window to catch him in case he fell outward. "I tan't," squealed Toddie. "Mike, run up-stairs and snatch him in; Toddie, go on, I tell you!" "Tell you I TAN'T doe in," repeated Toddie. "ZE bit bots ish ze whay-al, an' I'ez Djonah, an' ze whay-al's froed me up, an' I'ze dot to 'tay up here else ze whay-al 'ill fwallow me aden." "I won't LET him swallow you.
This is an invariable rule with balked horses, just as much as it is for them to look around at their sides when they have the bots; in either case they are deserving of the same sympathy and the same kind, rational treatment.
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