THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 14/ 



handsomely termed him, would certainly have lifted 

 several lots considerably, if only by recounting the 

 story of their blood. But I had to get away to catch 

 the train, only after all to find every bed in Birmingham 

 occupied, owing to some neighbouring races, and the 

 coffee-room crammed with sundry coteries of hoary 

 experts and downy-lipped would-be turfites, who were 

 undoubtedly buying their experience. 



And so, in pleasant company of some experienced 

 Shorthorn breeders, I took the night train, put on a 

 double suit of clothes, and lay down for a restless 

 journey between sleeping and waking, to arrive at 

 home some hours before expected, and so to realise 

 fully in the bright glances that succeeded first surprise 

 the truth of the poet's exquisite lines : — 



" 'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 



Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home : 



'Tis sweet to know there is an eye Avill mark 

 Our coming, and look brighter when we come : 



'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, 



Or lull'd by falling waters : sweet the hum 



Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, 



The lisp of children, and their earliest words." 



Now, if I were Lord of Dunrobin Castle, and for 

 reasons sufficiently obvious to you all, I dare say 

 I should particularly like to be Lord of Dunrobin 

 Castle, I should prefer of the article bovine most 

 decidedly to cultivate the shaggy West Highlander, 

 with its long lithe cubic frame, sharp-pointed horns, 

 and uniform type. To see a lot of such, brown, black, 

 dun, upon the fern-clad park slopes by the wild 

 tumbling cataract, and amidst the heather-brake (the 

 whole my own property too), would afford me, I must 



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