106 MY FARM. 



have no more claim upon the maternal instincts of 

 the elder animals, than the drovers themselves. It is 

 all a bald fiction ; the true offspring have gone to the 

 butchers months ago ; and if the poor, surcharged 

 brutes accept of the offices of the little staggering 

 foundlings, it is with a weary poke of the head, that 

 is damning to the brutality of the drovers. 



It would be too much to say that I have never 

 been deceived by these people ; too much to say that 

 honest old gentlemen of innocent proclivities did never 

 pass upon me certain venerable animals, with the tell- 

 tale wrinkles rasped out of their horns. One of this 

 class, of a really creditable figure, high hip bones, 

 heavy quarters, well marked milk veins, I was incau- 

 tious enough to test by a glance into her mouth. 

 Not a tooth in her old head ! 



I looked accusingly at the rural owner, who was 

 quietly cutting a notch in the top rail of his fence. 



" Waal, yes kinder rubbed off; but she bites 

 pooty well with her gooms." 



Among the early purchases, and among the ani- 

 mals that promised well, was a dun cow, which it was 

 found necessary, after a few weeks of full feeding, to 

 cumber with a complicated piece of neck furniture, to 

 forbid her filching surreptitiously what properly be- 

 longed to the pail. Self-milkers are not profitable. I 

 have faith in the doctrine of rotation, and the quick 



