150 THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FARM. 



behind an oak bough, close above the children's heads, 

 where they were standing to look on. I hope she'll 

 find a mate, and build near the house. During the 

 frost and snow a pair of water-hens came up, and fed 

 regularly with the pheasant upon the lawn. With the 

 return of softer weather, they have discontinued their 

 visits. 



I am sorry to see that Mr. Frank Buckland has pro- 

 nounced decidedly against the introduction of horse- 

 flesh upon the table. Certainly if the taste, as he 

 states, at all resembles the smell of steaming hunters at 

 a check, it must be inconceivably abominable as a 

 viand. Surely, too, there would be great risk of a 

 glandered specimen being sometimes served up, the 

 incipient symptoms of this disease it being impossible 

 to detect. It certainly would have led to a consider- 

 ably larger number of horses being bred, if a filly whose 

 forelegs were too fine could have simply been sent to 

 the shambles as first-class beef It would have much 

 diminished the great risks of breeding which deter all 

 but the most enthusiastic lovers of horseflesh now from 

 keeping a brood mare. 



This reminds me of a piece of luck which befell me 

 the other day, not before I wanted it, considering some 

 equine losses that I experienced two years since. I 

 attended, quite casually, the sale of a small mountain 

 farmer who had notice to quit, and picked up a rare 

 specimen of a sort that I have been long looking for — 

 a short-legged, square-actioned, spirited, Welsh cart- 

 mare, about fifteen hands in height, or just under it, 

 with quarters that one might play ball against, and a 

 back that would carry a cradle steadily, with a sweet 

 head, a tan muzzle, and short cannon-bone, heavy in 



