70 OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS. 



whatever. It occurs to me as strange (now I come to think 

 of it) that this is the first time in my Hfe I ever have been 

 specially invited to " look at a Cow." 



We pick our way (I mean I pick mine, and he trudges) 

 through a very dirty yard (this is evidently not a model farm, 

 where you could " eat your dinner off the floor of a pigstye," 

 as a model farmer once said to me), and come to a low, shed- 

 like sort of stable. A very mucky place. 



Happy T}ioiight.—K\\-^l\xz\^s. 



I wonder the Drainage Commissioners (or somebody) 

 aren't down on this mucky farmer. 



Happy Thought. — Good name for a dirty Scotch Farmer. 

 Mr. Muck Intyre. Don't say this to my companion for 

 several reasons. Firstly, because I think he wouldn't under- 

 stand it. Secondly, because if he understood it he wouldn't 

 like it. Thirdly, because he, probably, isn't Scotch, and 

 wouldn't care much about it. Fourthly, because if he is 

 Scotch, his Highland (or Lowland, or Midland) blood will 

 be up. Plfthly, because he is now drawing my attention to 

 the Cow. 



I thought he was going to show me a magnificent Alder- 

 ney, or a splendid Something-or-other (I forget what other 

 sort of cows there are, and at this moment I can only re- 

 member that the Southdowns are sheep not cows), and here 

 I find a dirty- white, fly-bitten, over-sized cow, lying in a 

 loose box on heaps of straw, moaning, blowing, rolling, and, 

 I should say, if I were asked at once what I thought about 



