136 THE CATTLE OF GREAT BRITAIN. 



measure the marvellous improvement of late years which is 

 rapidly placing the Irish on a footing with the home-bred. 



A century ago the Longhorn was the most important and 

 fashionable breed of cattle inhabiting the counties of Derby 

 and Stafford, and there still lingers in the district wondrous 

 tales of the quantity of milk yielded by some favourite cow, or 

 the more marvellous weights which the oxen and heifers attained 

 when grazed on the rich alluvial pastures of the Trent, the 

 Dove, or the Derwent. Viewed by their narrators through the 

 mists of a long series of bygone years, their merits became 

 magnified to a degree sufficient to awaken in our minds a feeling 

 bordering on incredulity. It will give the reader some idea of 

 the state of agriculture in this district when we state that down 

 to about the period to which we refer the cattle were all wintered 

 in the fields, and within five minutes' walk of where we write 

 stands the first cowshed ever erected in this parish, or within a 

 radius of several miles. 



The farmers attending the markets of Derby and Lough- 

 boro' would no doubt freely discuss all the floating rumours 

 concerning the doings of their neighbour of Dishley. In 

 pre-railway days enthusiastic breeders made long pilgrimages 

 by stage coach, or road waggon, and frequently by the more 

 independent mode of travelling on horseback booted and spurred, 

 with whip in hand, and equipped with all the travelling para- 

 phernalia of wallet and saddle bags, men from all parts of the 

 kingdom flocked to Dishley to inspect the stock and gather 

 information from so popular and authentic a source. The vivd 

 voce reports of these visitors wafted the name and fame of Bake- 

 well to the most remote corners of G-reat Britain; hence his cattle, 

 like his sheep, became famous. What a change the revolving 

 years of a century have brought about. Having officiated at the 

 local show, where the present tenant of Dishley Farm was a com- 

 petitor and successful prize winner, our drive homewards, in the 

 cool of an early September evening, led us past the roofless 

 church and tangled and dilapidated church-yard where the fore- 

 fathers of the hamlet sleep. A lot of well-bred, fat, two-year-old 

 Shorthorn steers were congregated round the cattle tubs in the 

 home pasture, whilst a large herd of breedy-looking, large- 

 framed dairy cows were slowly wending their way to the stalls 



