3*8 



CHAPTER XII. 



s * Right sacred is our Ox's rump, 



And history will evince, 

 If Fame deceive not with her trump, 



'Twas deified long since ; 

 To Mithra's Bull great Persia bowed, 



To Apis Egypt preached ; 

 To Baal's calf whole countries vowed, 



And Greece her Bous beseeched. 



* Like Britain's Island lies our Steak, 



A sea of gravy bounds it ; 

 Shalots conms'dly scattered, make 



The rockwork which surrounds it ; 

 Your Isle's best emblem there behold, 



Remember ancient story ; 

 Be like your grandsires, just and bold, 

 And live and die with glory." 



Captain Morris. 



The Towneley Herd The Sale Great Sales of the Century Old 

 Favourites Mr. Eastwood's Herd Mr. Peel's Herd The Lonks. 



THE Towneley domains, which have a private 

 station of their own, extended right down to 

 Burnley, and share with it in the discomforts oi 

 one of the wettest and rawest climates in the whole 

 of Great Britain. Pendle Hill, whose fame has 

 long been preserved in the not very smooth-running 

 couplet 



Pendle Hill, Pennykant, and Little Ingleborough, 



Are the largest of the hills, if you search England thorough," 



rises guardian-like over the town ; and a long avenue 

 from the front-door of the hall points right away, past 

 the gamekeeper's cottage, to a range of grouse- 

 hills on the north. The Colonel's home-farm consists 

 of five hundred acres, chiefly grass. It is about one of 

 the last " bowers" in which a veritable butterfly would 



