86 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



for it but steadily to forge our way onward in its teetb, 

 foddering and littering without stint. But we are in 

 for a misfortune, I fear. The bailiff just informs me 

 that our pet of all the pet herd, a short-legged, square- 

 built, but most elegant cow, bred by Sir Charles 

 Knightley, and possessing in a high degree the charac- 

 teristics he aimed at — the breadth of back, the shoulder 

 sloping as that of a race-horse, the small refined head, 

 broad-browed, with short, flat, waxy horn — shows sym- 

 ptoms of being burdened with a dead calf : that calf 

 which, if a bull, we had intended to be the father of a 

 future generation. Every care has been taken of her 

 during gestation. She is within a fortnight of her 

 regular time, and has milk in her udder ; but the signs 

 that present themselves are unfavourable. We can 

 only hope. 



Bad cess to the period ! Again there is sorrow and 

 consternation through the household. A favourite half- 

 Angora cat (a property of the nursery) is brought in 

 with both fore-legs smashed in a vermin trap, a fate we 

 have ourselves been long anticipating, inasmuch as my 

 lady had begun to be neglectful of her household duties, 

 and to go a-gipsying. There was nothing for it but to 

 put an end to her misery. Her habit of lapping up the 

 milk with which the children supplied her was peculiar. 

 Instead of applying her tongue directly to the surface, 

 she dipped her paws in the dish, and then sucked the 

 same with very much the air wherewith Augustus 

 smoothes and twists his moustache. Of our crops we 

 can say nothing, as they are simply out of sight. But 

 here comes an old friend, one of Wellington's aides-de- 

 camp at Waterloo, trudging over the snow, to have a 

 game of billiards, with slippers in his pocket, but 



