Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

We must pass over the entire doctrine of prepared food, which has lately occupied so much attention, and has been so ably advocated by Mr Warner, Mr Marshall, Mr Thompson, and which, among others, has been so successfully practised by our friend Mr Hutton of Sowber Hill in Yorkshire. We only quote, by the way, a curious observation of Mr Robert Stephenson of Whitelaw in East-Lothian:

"'We shall conclude,' he says, 'by relating a singular
fact'--and a remarkable one it is, and worth
remembering--'that _sheep_ on turnips will consume nearly in
proportion to _cattle_, weight for weight; that is, 10 sheep
of 14 lbs. a-quarter, or 40 stones in all, will eat nearly
the same quantity of turnips as an ox of 40 stones; but turn
the ox to grass, and 6 sheep will be found to consume an
equal quantity. This great difference may perhaps,' says Mr
Stephenson, and I think truly, 'be accounted for by the
practice of sheep cropping the grass much closer and oftener
than cattle, and which, of course, prevents its growing so
rapidly with them as with cattle.'"

The treatment of farm horses in winter is under the direction of the ploughman, whose duties are first described, after which the system of management and feeding of farm and saddle horses is discussed at a length of thirty pages.

Among other pieces of curious information which our author gives us is the nomenclature of the animals he treats of, at their various ages. This forms a much larger vocabulary than most people imagine, and comprises many words of which four-fifths of our population would be unable to tell the meaning.

Thus, of the sheep he informs us--

"A new-born sheep is called a _lamb_, and retains the name
until weaned from its mother and able to support itself. The
generic name is altered according to the sex and state of the
animal; when a female it is a _ewe-lamb_, when a male
_tup-lamb_, and this last is changed to _hogg-lamb_ when it
undergoes emasculation.

"After a lamb has been weaned, until the first fleece is
shorn from its back, it receives the name of _hogg_, which is
also modified according to the sex and state of the animal, a
female being a _ewe-hogg_, a male a _tup-hogg_, and a
castrated male a _wether-hogg_. After the first fleece has
been shorn, another change is made in the nomenclature; the
ewe-hogg then becomes a _gimmer_, the tup-hogg a
_shearling-tup_, and the wether-hog a _dinmont_, and these
names are retained until the fleece is shorn a second time.

"After the second shearing another change is effected in all
these names; the gimmer is then a _ewe_ if she is _in lamb_,
but if not, a _barren gimmer_ and if never put to the ram a
_eild gimmer_. The shearling tup is then a _2-shear tup_, and
the dinmont is a _wether_, but more correctly a _2-shear
wether_.

"A ewe three times shorn is a _twinter ewe_, (_two-winter
ewe_;) a tup is a _3-shear tup_; and a wether still a
_wether_, or more correctly a _3-shear wether_--which is an
uncommon name among Leicester sheep, as the castrated sheep
of that breed are rarely kept to that age.

"A ewe four times shorn is a _three winter ewe_, or _aged
ewe_; a tup, an _aged tup_, a name he retains ever after,
whatever his age, but they are seldom kept beyond this age;
and the wether is now a _wether_ properly so called.

"A _tup_ and _ram_ are synonymous terms.

"A ewe that has borne a lamb, when it fails to be with lamb
again is a _tup-eill_ or _barren ewe_. After a ewe has ceased
to give milk she is a _yeld-ewe_.

"A ewe when removed from the breeding flock is a _draft ewe_,
whatever her age may be; gimmers put aside as unfit for
breeding are _draft gimmers_, and the lambs, dinmonts or
wethers, drafted out of the fat or young stock are
_sheddings_, _tails_, or _drafts_.

"In England a somewhat different nomenclature prevails. Sheep
bear the name of _lamb_ until eight months old, after which
they are _ewe_ and _wether teggs_ until once clipped. Gimmers
are _theares_ until they bear the first lamb, when they are
_ewes of 4-teeth_, next year _ewes of 6-teeth_, and the year
after _full-mouthed ewes_. Dinmonts are called _shear hoggs_
until shorn of the fleece, when they are _2-shear wethers_,
and ever after are _wethers_."

The names of cattle are a little less complicated.

"The _names_ given to cattle at their various ages are
these:--A new-born animal of the ox-tribe is called a _calf_,
a male being a _bull-calf_, a female a _quey-calf_,
_heifer-calf_, or _cow-calf_; and a castrated male calf is a
_stot-calf_, or simply a _calf_. Calf is applied to all young
cattle until they attain one year old, when they are
_year-olds_ or _yearlings_--_year-old bull_, _year-old quey_
or heifer, _year-old stot_. _Stot_, in some places, is a bull
of any age.

"In another year they are _2-year old bull_, _2-year-old
quey_ or _heifer_, _2-year-old-stot_ or _steer_. In England
females are _stirks_ from calves to 2-year-old, and males
_steers_; in Scotland both young male and females are
_stirks_. The next year they are _3-year-old bull_, in
England 3-year-old female a _heifer_, in Scotland a
_3-year-old quey_, and a male is a _3-year-old stot_ or
_steer_.

"When a quey bears a calf, it is a _cow_, both in Scotland
and England. Next year the _bulls_ are _aged_; the _cows_
retain the name ever after, and the _stots_ or _steers_ are
_oxen_, which they continue to be to any age. A cow or quey
that has received the bull is _served_ or _bulled_, and is
then _in calf_, and in that state these are in England
_in-calvers_. A cow that suffers abortion _slips_ its calf. A
cow that has either _missed_ being in calf, or has _slipped_
calf, is _eill_; and one that has gone dry of milk is a
_yeld-cow_. A cow giving milk is a _milk_ or _milch-cow_.
When two calves are born at one birth, they are _twins_; if
three, _trins_. A quey calf of twins of bull and quey calves,
is a _free martin_, and never produces young, but exhibits no
marks of a hybrid or mule.

"_Cattle_, _black cattle_, _horned cattle_, and _neat
cattle_, are all generic names for the ox tribe, and the term
_beast_ is a synonyme.

"An ox without horns is _dodded_ or _humbled_.

"A castrated bull is a _segg_. A quey-calf whose ovaries have
been obliterated, to prevent her breeding, is a _spayed
heifer_ or _quey_."

Those of the horse are fewer, and more generally known--

"The names commonly given to the different states of the
horse are these:--The new-born one is called a _foal_, the
male being a _colt foal_, and the female a _filly foal_.
After being weaned, the foals are called simply _colt_ or
_filly_, according to the sex, which the colt retains until
broken in for work, when he is a _horse_ or _gelding_ which
he retains all his life; and the filly is then changed into
_mare_. When the colt is not castrated he is an _entire
colt_; which name he retains until he serves mares, when he
is a _stallion_ or _entire horse_; when castrated he is a
_gelding_; and it is in this state that he is chiefly worked.
A mare, when served, is said to be _covered by_ or _stinted
to_ a particular stallion; and after she has borne a foal she
is a _brood mare_, until she ceases to bear, when she is a
_barren mare_ or _eill mare_; and when dry of milk, she is
_yeld_. A mare, while big with young, is _in foal_. Old
stallions are never castrated."

Those of the pig are as follows--

"When new-born, they are called _sucking pigs_, or simply
_pigs_; and the male is a _boar pig_, the female _sow pig_. A
castrated male, after it is weaned, is a _shot_ or _hog_. Hog
is the name mostly used by naturalists, and very frequently
by writers on agriculture; but, as it sounds so like the name
given to young sheep, (hogg,) I shall always use the terms
pig and swine for the sake of distinction. The term _hog_ is
said to be derived from a Hebrew noun, signifying 'to have
narrow eyes,' a feature quite characteristic of this species
of animal. A spayed female is a _cut sow pig_. As long as
both sorts of cut pigs are small and young, they are
_porkers_ or _porklings_. A female that has not been cut, and
before it bears young, is an _open sow_; and an entire male,
after being weaned, is always a _boar_ or _brawn_. A cut boar
is a _brawner_. A female that has taken the boar is said to
be _lined_; when bearing young she is a _brood sow_; and when
she has brought forth pigs she has _littered_ or _farrowed_,
and her family of pigs at one birth form a _litter_ or
_farrow_ of pigs."

The diseases of cattle, horses, pigs, and poultry, are treated of--their management in disease, that is, as well as in health. And it is one of the merits of Mr Stephens that he has taken such pains in getting up his different subjects--that he seems as much at home in one department of his art as in another; and we follow him with equal confidence in his description of field operations, of servant-choosing and managing, of cattle-buying, tending, breeding, feeding, butchering, and even cooking and eating--for he is cunning in these last points also.

His great predecessor Tucker prided himself, in his "_Five hundred points_," in mixing up huswifry with husbandry:--

"In husbandry matters, where _Pilcrow_[3] ye find,
That verse appertaineth to Huswif'ry kind;
So have ye more lessons, if there ye look well,
Than huswif'ry book doth utter or tell."

Following Tucker's example, our author scatters here and there throughout his book much useful information for the farmer's wife; and for her especial use, no doubt, he has drawn up his curious and interesting chapter on the treatment of fowls in winter. To show how minute his knowledge is upon this point, and how implicitly therefore he may be trusted in greater matters, we quote the following:--

"Every yellow-legged chicken should be used, whether male or female--their flesh never being so fine as the others." "Young fowls may either be roasted or boiled, the male making the best roasted, and the female the neatest boiled dish." "The criterion of a fat hen, when alive, is a plump breast, and the rump feeling thick, fat, and firm, on being handled laterally between the finger and thumb."

"Of a fat goose the mark is, plumpness of muscle over the breast, and thickness of rump when alive; and in addition, when dead and plucked, of a uniform covering of _white_ fat under a fine skin on the breast." "Geese are always roasted in Britain, though a boiled goose is not an uncommon dish in Ireland; and their flesh is certainly much heightened in flavour by a stuffing of onions, and an accompaniment of apple sauce."

We suppose a boiled goose must be especially tasteless, as we once knew an old schoolmaster on the North Tyne, whose very stupid pupils were always christened _boiled geese_.

The threshing and winnowing of grain, which forms so important a part of the winter operations of a farm, naturally lead our author to describe and figure the different species of corn plants and their varieties, and to discuss their several nutritive values, the geographical range and distribution of each, and the special uses or qualities of the different varieties.

Widely spread and known for so many ages, the home or native country of our cereal plants is not only unknown, but some suppose the several species, like the varieties of the human race, to have all sprung from a common stock.

"It is a very remarkable circumstance, as observed by Dr
Lindley, that the native country of wheat, oats, barley, and
rye should be entirely unknown; for although oats and barley
were found by Colonel Chesney, apparently wild, on the banks
of the Euphrates, it is doubtful whether they were not the
remains of cultivation. This has led to an opinion, on the
part of some persons, that all our cereal plants are
artificial productions, obtained accidentally, but retaining
their habits, which have become fixed in the course of ages."

Whatever may be the original source of our known species of grain, and of their numerous varieties, it cannot be doubted that their existence, at the present time, is a great blessing to man. Of wheat there are upwards of a hundred and fifty known varieties, of barley upwards of thirty, and of oats about sixty. While the different species--wheat, barley, and oats--are each specially confined to large but limited regions of the earth's surface, the different varieties adapt themselves to the varied conditions of soil and climate which exist within the natural geographical region of each, and to the different uses for which each species is intended to be employed.

Thus the influence of variety upon the adaptation of the oat to the soil, climate, and wants of a given locality, is shown by the following observations:--

"The Siberian oat is cultivated in the poorer soils and
higher districts, resists the force of the wind, and yields a
grain well adapted for the support of farm-horses. The straw
is fine and pliable, and makes an excellent dry fodder for
cattle and horses, the saccharine matter in the joints being
very sensible to the taste. It comes early to maturity, and
hence its name."

The Tartarian oat, from the peculiarity of its form, and from its "possessing a beard, is of such a hardy nature as to thrive in soils and climates where the other grains cannot be raised. It is much cultivated in England, and not at all in Scotland. It is a coarse grain, more fit for horse-food than to make into meal. The grain is dark coloured and awny; the straw coarse, harsh, brittle, and rather short."

The reader will see from this extract that the English "food for horses" is, in reality, not the same thing as the "chief o' Scotia's food;" and that a little agricultural knowledge would have prevented Dr Johnson from exhibiting, in the same sentence, an example of both his ignorance and his venom.

Variety affects appearance and quality; and how these are to be consulted in reference to the market in which the grain is to be sold, may be gathered from the following:--

"When wheat is quite opaque, indicating not the least
translucency, it is in the best state for yielding the finest
flour--such flour as confectioners use for pastry; and in
this state it will be eagerly purchased by them at a large
price. Wheat in this state contains the largest proportion of
fecula or starch, and is therefore best suited to the
starch-maker, as well as the confectioner. On the other hand,
when wheat is translucent, hard, and flinty, it is better
suited to the common baker than the confectioner and starch
manufacturer, as affording what is called _strong_ flour,
that rises boldly with yeast into a spongy dough. Bakers
will, therefore, give more for good wheat in this state than
in the opaque; but for bread of finest quality the flour
should be fine as well as strong, and therefore a mixture of
the two conditions of wheat is best suited for making the
best quality of bread. Bakers, when they purchase their own
wheat, are in the habit of mixing wheat which respectively
possesses those qualities; and millers who are in the habit
of supplying bakers with flour, mix different kinds of wheat,
and grind them together for their use. Some sorts of wheat
naturally possess _both_ these properties, and on that
account are great favourites with bakers, though not so with
confectioners; and, I presume, to this mixed property is to
be ascribed the great and lasting popularity which Hunter's
white wheat has so long enjoyed. We hear also of '_high
mixed_' Danzig wheat, which has been so mixed for the
purpose, and is in high repute amongst bakers. Generally
speaking, the purest coloured white wheat indicates most
opacity, and, of course, yields the finest flour; and red
wheat is most flinty, and therefore yields the strongest
flour: a translucent red wheat will yield stronger flour than
a translucent white wheat, and yet a red wheat never realises
so high a price in the market as white--partly because it
contains a larger proportion of refuse in the grinding, but
chiefly because it yields less fine flour, that is, starch."

In regard to wheat, it has been supposed, that the qualities referred to in the above extract, as especially fitting certain varieties for the use of the confectioner, &c., were owing to the existence of a larger quantity of gluten in these kinds of grain. Chemical inquiry has, however, nearly dissipated that idea, and with it certain erroneous opinions, previously entertained, as to their superior nutritive value. Climate and physiological constitution induce differences in our vegetable productions, which chemical research may detect and explain, but may never be able to remove or entirely control.

The bran, or external covering of the grain of wheat, has recently also been the subject of scientific and economical investigation. It has been proved, by the researches of Johnston, confirmed by those of Miller and others, that the bran of wheat, though less readily digestible, contains more nutritive matter than the white interior of the grain. Brown, or household bread, therefore, which contains a portion of the bran, is to be preferred, both for economy and for nutritive quality, to that made of the finest flour.

Upon the economy of mixing potato with wheaten flour, and of home-made bread, Mr Stephens has the following:--

"It is assumed by some people, that a mixture of potatoes
amongst wheaten flour renders bread lighter and more
wholesome. That it will make bread whiter, I have no doubt;
but I have as little doubt that it will render it more
insipid, and it is demonstrable that it makes it dearer than
wheaten flour. Thus, take a bushel of 'seconds' flour,
weighing 56 lbs. at 5s. 6d. A batch of bread, to consist of
21 lbs., will absorb as much water, and require as much yeast
and salt, as will yield 7 loaves, of 4 lbs. each, for 2s.
4d., or 4d. per loaf. 'If, instead of 7 lbs. of the flour,
the same weight of raw potatoes be substituted, with the hope
of saving by the comparatively low price of the latter
article, the quantity of bread that will be yielded will be
_but a trifle more than would have been produced from 14 lbs.
of flour only_, without the addition of the 7 lbs. of
potatoes; for the starch of this root is the only nutritive
part, and we have proved that but one-seventh or one-eighth
of it is contained in every pound, the remainder being water
and innutritive matter. Only 20 lbs. of bread, therefore,
instead of 28 lbs., will be obtained; and this, though white,
will be comparatively flavourless, and liable to become dry
and sour in a few days; whereas, without the latter addition,
bread made in private families will keep _well_ for 3 weeks,
though, after a fortnight, it begins to deteriorate,
especially in the autumn.' The calculation of comparative
_cost_ is thus shown:--

Flour, 14 lbs., say at 1-1/4d. per lb., = 1s. 5-1/2d.
Potatoes, 7 lbs., say at 5s. per sack, = 0 2
Yeast and fuel, = 0 4-1/2
------
2s. 0d.

The yield, 20 lbs., or 5 loaves of 4 lbs. each, will be
nearly 5d. each, which is dearer than the wheaten loaves at
4d. each, and the bread, besides, of inferior quality.

"'There are persons who assert--for we have heard them--that
there is no economy in baking at home. An accurate and
constant attention to the matter, with a close calculation of
every week's results for several years--a calculation induced
by the sheer love of investigation and experiment--enables us
to assure our readers, that a gain is invariably made of from
1-1/2d. to 2d. on the 4 lb. loaf. If _all_ be intrusted to
servants, we do not pretend to deny that the waste may
neutralise the _profit_; but, with care and investigation, we
pledge our veracity that the saving will prove to be
considerable.' These are the observations of a lady well
known to me."

In the natural history of barley the most remarkable fact is, the high northern latitudes in which it can be successfully cultivated. Not only does it ripen in the Orkney and Shetland and Faroe Islands, but on the shores of the White Sea; and near the North Cape, in north latitude 70°, it thrives and yields nourishment to the inhabitants. In Iceland, in latitude 63° to 66° north, it ceases to ripen, not because the temperature is too low, but because rains fall at an unseasonable time, and thus prevent the filling ear from arriving at maturity.

The oat is distinguished by its remarkable nutritive quality, compared with our other cultivated grains. This has been long known in practice in the northern parts of the island, where it has for ages formed the staple food of the mass of the population, though it was doubted and disputed in the south so much, as almost to render the Scotch ashamed of their national food. Chemistry has recently, however, set the matter at rest, and is gradually bringing oatmeal again into general favour. We believe that the robust health of many fine families of children now fed upon it, in preference to wheaten flour, is a debt they owe, and we trust will not hereafter forget, to chemical science.

On oatmeal Mr Stephens gives us the following information:--

"The portion of the oat crop consumed by man is manufactured
into _meal_. It is never called flour, as the millstones are
not set so close in grinding it as when wheat is ground, nor
are the stones for grinding oats made of the same material,
but most frequently only of sandstone--the old red sandstone
or greywacke. Oats, unlike wheat, are always kiln-dried
before being ground; and they undergo this process for the
purpose of causing the thick husk, in which the substance of
the grain is enveloped, to be the more easily ground off,
which it is by the stones being set wide asunder; and the
husk is blown away, on being winnowed by the fanner, and the
grain retained, which is then called _groats_. The groats are
ground by the stones closer set, and yield the meal. The meal
is then passed through sieves, to separate the thin husk from
the meal. The meal is made in two states: one _fine_, which
is the state best adapted for making into bread, in the form
called oat-cake or bannocks; and the other is coarser or
_rounder_ ground, and is in the best state for making the
common food of the country people--porridge, _Scottice_,
parritch. A difference of custom prevails in respect to the
use of these two different states of oatmeal, in different
parts of the country, the fine meal being best liked for all
purposes in the northern, and the round or coarse meal in the
southern counties; but as oat-cake is chiefly eaten in the
north, the meal is there made to suit the purpose of bread
rather than of porridge; whereas, in the south, bread is made
from another grain, and oatmeal is there used only as
porridge. There is no doubt that the round meal makes the
best porridge, when properly made--that is, seasoned with
salt, and boiled as long as to allow the particles to swell
and burst, when the porridge becomes a pultaceous mass. So
made, with rich milk or cream, few more wholesome dishes can
be partaken by any man, or upon which a harder day's work can
be wrought. Children of all ranks in Scotland are brought up
on this diet, verifying the poet's assertion--

"The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food."

BURNS.

Forfarshire has long been famed for the quality of its brose
and oat-cake, while the porridge of the Borders has as long
been equally famous. It is so everywhere, the sharp soil
producing the finest cake-meal, and clay land the best meal
for boiling. Of meal from the varieties of the oat
cultivated, that of the common Angus oat is the most thrifty
for a poor man, though its yield in meal is less in
proportion to the bulk of corn."

Much valuable information is given on the management of manure-heaps, and the forming of composts in winter. We especially recommend to the reader's attention section 2043, which is too long to extract. Railways have done much to benefit the farmer: in speaking of composts, our author gives us the following example of a local injury produced by them:--

"In the vicinity of villages where fish are cured and smoked
for market, refuse of fish heads and guts make an excellent
compost with earth. Near Eyemouth and Burnmouth, on the
Berwickshire coast, 30 barrels of fish refuse, with as much
earth from the head-ridges as will completely cover the heap,
are sufficient for an imperial acre. The barrel contains 30
gallons, and 4 barrels make a cart-load, and the barrel sells
for 1s. 6d. From 400 to 600 barrels may be obtained for each
farm in the neighbourhood, in the course of the season. Since
the opening of the North British railway, the curing of the
fish is given up, much to the loss of the farmers in that
locality; and the fishermen now send, by the railway, the
fish in a fresh state to the larger towns at a distance.
Thus, railways produce advantage to some, whilst they cause
loss to others. In the northern counties of Scotland, fish
refuse is obtained in large quantities during the herring
fishing season. On the coast of Cornwall, the pilchard
fishing affords a large supply of refuse for composts."

In regard to the calving of cows, to milking, and to the rearing of calves, we have information as full, as minute, and as easily conveyed, as on any of the other subjects which have hitherto engaged our attention. When treating of the diseases to which cows, on calving, are subject, we have been interested with the following case:--

"I may here mention an unaccountable fatality which overtook
a short-horn cow of mine, in Forfarshire, immediately after
calving. She was an extraordinary milker, giving not less
than thirty quarts a-day in summer on grass; but what was
more extraordinary, for two calvings the milk never dried up,
but continued to flow to the very day of calving, and after
that event returned in increased quantity. In the third year
she went naturally dry for about one month prior to the day
of reckoning; every precaution, however, was taken that the
milk should dry up without giving her any uneasiness. She
calved in high health, the milk returned as usual in a great
flush after calving, but it was impossible to draw it from
the udder; not a teat would pass milk, _all the four being
entirely corded_. Quills were first introduced into the
teats; and then tubes of larger size were pushed up into the
body of the udder. A little milk ran out of only one of
them--hope revived; but it soon stopped running, and all the
art that could be devised by a skilful shepherd proved
unavailing to draw milk from the udder; rubbing and softening
the udder with goose-fat, making it warmer with warm
water--all to no purpose. To render the case more
distressing, there was not a veterinary surgeon in the
district. At length the udder inflamed, mortified, and the
cow died in the most excruciating agony on the third day,
from being in the highest state of health, though not in high
condition, as her milking propensity usually kept her lean.
No loss of the kind ever affected my mind so much--that
nothing _could_ be done to relieve the distress of an animal
which could not help itself. I was told afterwards by a
shepherd, to whom I related the case, that I should have cut
off all the teats, and although the horrid operation would,
of course, have destroyed her for a milk cow, she might have
been saved for feeding. He had never seen a _cow_ so operated
on; but it suggested itself to him in consequence of having
been obliged at times to cut off the teats of ewes to save
their lives. The suggestion I think is good. The cow was bred
by Mr Currie, when at Brandon in Northumberland."

Is there really no remedy for so distressing a case as this but that which his shepherd recommended? He might, for the benefit of his readers, have consulted our friend Professor Dick, whose opinions he so frequently and so deservedly quotes.

The following paragraph is very striking, as showing the cruel absurdities which ignorance will sometimes not only perpetrate, but actually establish, as a kind of custom in a country.

"_Tail-ill or Tail-slip._--A very prevalent notion exists in
Scotland amongst cattle-men, that when the tail of an ox or
of a cow feels soft and supple immediately above the tuft of
hair, there is disease in it; and it is called the tail-ill,
or tail-slip. The almost invariable remedy is to make large
incision with the knife along the under side of the soft
part, stuff the wound full of salt and butter, and sometimes
tar, and roll it up with a bandage for a few days, and when
the application is removed, the animal is declared quite
recovered. Now, this notion is an absurdity. There is no such
disease as that imputed; and as the poor animal subjected to
its cure is thus tormented, the sooner the absurd notion is
exposed the better. The notion will not soon be abandoned by
the cattle-men; but the farmer ought to forbid the
performance of such an operation on any of his cattle without
his special permission, and the absurd practice will fall
into desuetude."

We have not space for the remainder of this paragraph, which contains Professor Dick's _demonstration_ that no such disease exists as the so-called _Tail-ill_. Mr Stephens' narrations are more like a tale from the times of witchcraft, when old women were supposed to have the power of bringing disease upon cattle, than of those days of general enlightenment.

In sections 2268 and 2269, there is a recipe for making a cow which has once calved give a _full_ supply of milk all the rest of her life, and which recipe is said to be infallible. This is a _bon-bouche_, however, which we shall leave our readers to turn up for themselves; and we hope the desire to learn it will induce many of our dairy friends to buy the book.

The following is the mode adopted in fattening calves at Strathaven, in Scotland, where the famous veal has been so long grown, chiefly for the Glasgow market:--

"Strathaven in Scotland has long been famed for rearing good
_veal_ for the Glasgow and Edinburgh markets. The dairy
farmers there retain the quey calves for maintaining the
number of the cows, while they feed the male calves for veal.
Their plan is simple, and may be followed anywhere. Milk only
is given to the calves, and very seldom with any admixture,
and they are not allowed to suck the cows. Some give milk,
but sparingly at first, to whet the appetite, and prevent
surfeit. The youngest calves get the first drawn milk, or
_fore-broads_, as it is termed, and the older the
_afterings_, even of two or three cows, being the richest
portion of the milk. After being three or four weeks old,
they get abundance of milk twice a-day. They get plenty of
dry litter, fresh air, moderate warmth, and are kept nearly
in the dark to check sportiveness. They are not bled during
the time they are fed, and a lump of chalk is placed within
their reach. They are fed from 4 to 6 weeks, when they fetch
from £3 to £4 a-piece; and it is found more profitable to
fatten the larger number of calves for that time, to succeed
each other, of from 25 lb. to 30 lb. per quarter, than to
force a fewer number beyond the state of marketable veal."

The Caledonian Railway now puts this choice veal within the reach of English mouths; and we hope it will, at the same time, add to the prosperity and profits of the Strathaven breeders.

The lambing of ewes, the care of the mothers and offspring, the diseases to which they are subject, as well as the other operations which demand the farmer's care in the months of spring, we must pass by. We could go on commenting and quoting from this book, as we have already done, till an entire number of Maga was filled up. But as this would be preposterous, we stop, earnestly pressing upon our readers to place a copy of this storehouse of rural information in the hands of every practical husbandman, in whose professional skill they are at all interested.

Those who, like ourselves, take an interest in the diffusion of improved agriculture, scientific, and practical--and especially of our own agricultural literature in other countries--will be pleased to learn, not only that the work of which the title is prefixed to the present article, as well as the others upon agricultural chemistry to which we have referred, have made their way into the common stock of the book-stores of the United States, but that the editing of the American reprint of the second edition of the _Book of the Farm_ has been undertaken by our friend Professor Norton, of Yale College, (may his shadow never be less!) so well known and esteemed in Scotland, where he obtained the Highland Society's £50 prize for a chemical examination of our native oat, which was published in their Transactions. He is a worthy representative of the "country of steady habits" to which he belongs; and we hope his countrymen will be discriminating enough to appreciate his own character and scientific labours, as well as the value of the books he undertakes to bring before them.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Stephens' _Book of the Farm_, Second Edition, vol. I.

[2] In a recent number of the _North British Agriculturist_, it is stated that an agricultural stoker, who thought himself qualified to discourse on the uses of science to agriculture, had astonished a late meeting of the Newcastle Farmers' Club by telling them that the only thing science had yet done for agriculture was to show them how to dissolve bones in sulphuric acid; and that chemistry might boast of having really effected something if it could teach him to raise long potatoes, as he used to do, or to grow potato instead of Tartary oats, as his next-door neighbour could do. No wonder the shrewd Tyne-siders were astonished.

[3] Where ¶ (_pilcrow_,) or paragraph, is placed at the side of the verse.

THE SYCAMINE.

I.

The frail yellow leaves they are falling
As the wild winds sweep the grove;
Plashy and dank is the sward beneath,
And the sky it is gray above.

II.

Foaming adown the dark rocks,
Dirge-like, the waterfall
Mourns, as if mourning for something gone,
For ever beyond its call.

III.

Sing, redbreast! from the russet spray;
Thy song with the season blends:
For the bees have left us with the blooms,
And the swallows were summer friends.

IV.

The hawthorn bare, with berries sere,
And the bramble by the stream,
Matted, with clay on its yellow trails,
Decay's wan emblems seem.

V.

On this slope bank how oft we lay
In shadow of the sycamine tree;
Pause, hoary Eld, and listen now--
'Twas but the roaring of the sea!

VI.

Oh, the shouts and the laughter of yore--
How the tones wind round the heart!
Oh, the faces blent with youth's blue skies--
And could ye so depart!

VII.

The crow screams back to the wood,
And the sea-mew to the sea,
And earth seems to the foot of man
No resting-place to be.

VIII.

Search ye the corners of the world,
And the isles beyond the main,
And the main itself, for those who went
To come not back again!

IX.

The rest are a remnant scatter'd
Mid the living; and, for the dead,
Tread lightly o'er the churchyard mounds;
Ye know not where ye tread!

[Delta]

AFTER A YEAR'S REPUBLICANISM.

The revolutionary year has almost closed; the anniversary of the days of February is at hand. A Year's Republicanism has run the course of its unchecked experience in France: to believe its own boast, it has ridden boldly forward, seated upon public and popular opinion, in the form of the widest, and, upon republican principle, the honest basis of universal suffrage; it has been left to its own full career, unimpeded by enemies either at home or abroad. And what has been the result of the race?--what has been the harvest which the republican soil, so carefully turned over, tilled, and manured, has produced?

It would be a useless task to recapitulate all the different stages of the growth of the so-called fair green tree of liberty, and enumerate all the fruits that it has let drop from time to time, from the earliest days of last spring, to the tempestuous summer month of June; and then, through the duller, heavier, and gloomy months of autumn, to those of winter, which brought a president as a Christmas-box, and which have shown a few scattered gleams of fancied sunshine, cold at the best, and quickly obscured again by thick-coming clouds of dis-accord, misapprehension, and startling opposition of parties. All the world has had these fruits dished up to it--has handled them, examined them, tasted them; and, according to their opinions or prejudices, men have judged their savour bitter or sweet. All that can be said on the subject, for those who have digested them with pleasure, is, that "there's no accounting for tastes." In calculating the value of the year's republicanism which France has treasured up in its history, it is as well, then, to make no further examination into the items, but to look to the sum-total as far as it can be added up and put together, in the present aspect of affairs. In spite of the openly expressed detestation of the provinces to the capital--in spite of the increasing spirit of decentralisation, and the efforts made by the departments to insure a certain degree of importance to themselves--it is still Paris that reigns paramount in its power, and as the influential expression, however false in many respects it may be, of the general spirit of the country. It is upon the aspect of affairs in Paris, then, and all its numerous conflicting elements, that observation must still be directed, in order to make a _résumé_, as far as it is practicable, of this sum-total of a year's republican rule. The account must necessarily be, more or less, a confused one, for accounts are not strictly kept in Republican Paris--are continually varying in their results, according as the political arithmeticians set about their "casting up"--and are constantly subject to dispute among the accountants: the main figures, composing the sum-total, may, however, be enumerated without any great error, and then they may be put together in their true amount, and according to their real value, by those before whom they are thus laid.

One of the most striking figures in the row, inasmuch as the lateness of the events has made it one of the most prominent, is to be derived from the position and designs of those who declare themselves to be the only true and pure republicans in the anomalous Republic of France, as exemplified by that revolutionary movement which, although it led to no better result than a _révolution avortée_, takes its date in the history of the Republic beside the more troublous one of May, and the more bloody one of June, as "the affair of the 29th of January." Paris, after the removal of the state of siege, had done its best to put on its physiognomy of past years, had smeared over its wrinkles as best it might, and had made sundry attempts to smile through all this hasty plastering of its poor distorted face. Its shattered commerce still showed many rags and rents; but it had pulled its disordered dress with decency about it, and set it forth in the best lights; it had called foreigners once more around it, to admire it; and they had come at the call, although slowly and with mistrust. It had some hopes of mending its rags, then, and even furbishing up a new fresh _toilette_, almost as smart as of yore; it danced and sang again, although faintly and with effort. The National Assembly clamoured and fought, it is true; but Paris was grown accustomed to such discordant music, and at most only stopped its ears to it: ministers held their portfolios with ticklish balance, as if about to let them fall; but Paris was determined not to care who dropped portfolios, or who caught them: there were clouds again upon the political horizon, and distant rumblings of a crisis-thunderstorm; but Paris seemed resolved to look out for fine weather. All on a sudden, one bright morning, on the 29th of January, the smile vanished: the troubled physiognomy was again there; the revolutionary air again pervaded it; and foreigners once more, not liking the looks of the convulsed face, began to start back in alarm. The _rappel_ was again beaten, for the turning out of the national guards at the earliest hour of the morning: that drumming, which for many months had filled the air incessantly, again deafened sensitive ears and harassed sensitive nerves. The streets were thronged with troops, marching forwards in thick battalions; while before them retreated some hundreds of those nameless beings, who come no one knows whence, and go no one knows whither--those mysterious beings, peculiar to revolutionary cities, who only appear like a cloud of stinging dust when the wind of the revolution-tempest begins to blow, and who in Paris are either brigands or heroes of barricades, according as the language of the day may go--back, back, grumbling and threatening, into the faubourgs, where they vanished until the gale may blow stormier again, and meet with less resistance. The garden of the Tuileries was closed to the public, and exhibited an armed array once more among its leafless trees; the Champs Elysées had again become a camp and a bivouac; cannon was again posted around the National Assembly. Formidable military posts surrounded every public building; the streets were crowded with the curious; thick knots of men again stood at every corner; people asked once more, "What's on foot now?" but no one at first could answer: they only repeated from mouth to mouth the mysterious words of General Changarnier, that "he who should venture to displace a paving-stone would never again replace it;" and they knew what that meant. Paris was, all at once, its revolutionary self again; and, in some degree, so it remained during the ensuing weeks--with cannon displayed on hazardous points, and the great railway stations of the capital filled with battalions of soldiers, bivouacking upon straw in courts and _salles d' attente_; and huge military posts at every turn, and thick patrols parading gloomily at night, and palaces and public buildings closed and guarded, just as if retrograde monarchy were about to suppress fervent liberalism, and a "glorious republic" had not been established for a country's happiness wellnigh a year already; just as if republicans, who had conspired darkly a year before, had not obtained all they _then_ clamoured for--a republic based upon institutions resulting from universal suffrage--and were conspiring again. And so it was. A deep-laid conspiracy--a conspiracy of republicans against a republic, which they chose to call deceptive and illusory--was again on foot. They had possessed, for nigh a year, the blessing for which they had conspired, intrigued, and fought; and they conspired, intrigued, and would have fought again. One of the figures, then, to form the total which has to be summed up as the result of a year's republicanism, is--conspiracy; conspiracy more formidable than ever, because more desperate, more bloody-minded in its hopes, more destructive in its designs to all society.

In spite of the denegations of the Red-republican party, and the counter-accusations of their allies the _Montagnards_ in the Assembly, the question of all Paris, "What's on foot now?" was soon answered; and the answer, spite of these same denegations, and counter-accusations, was speedily understood and believed by all France. A conspiracy of the ultra-democrats, Red republicans and Socialists, (all now so shaken up together in one common dark bag of underhand design, that it is impossible to distinguish the shades of such parties,) was on the point of breaking out in the capital: the 29th of January had been fixed upon by the conspirators for their general insurrection. The Red republicans (to include all the factions of the anarchist parties under that title, in which they themselves rejoice, although the designation be derived from "blood") had felt how strong and overpowering had become the clamour raised throughout the land against that National Assembly which had run its course, and was now placed in constant opposition, not only to the president of the republic, as represented by his ministers, but to the general spirit and feeling of the country at large; they were aware, but too feelingly, that, should the Assembly give way before this clamour, in spite of its evidences of resistance, and decree its own dissolution, the elections of a new Legislative Assembly by that universal suffrage which had once been their idol, and was now to be scouted and despised, would inevitably produce what they termed a reactionary, and what they suspected might prove, a counter-revolutionary and monarchic majority; and they had determined, in spite of their defeat in June, to attempt another revolution, in the hope of again surprising the capital by a _coup-de-main_, and seizing the reins of power into their own hands at once. This conspiracy was affiliated together, in its various branches, by those formidable _sociétés secrètes_, which, long organised, had been again called into service by the persevering activity of the party, not only in Paris, but in all the larger provincial towns, and for which fresh recruits had been zealously drummed together. A general outbreak all over the country was regulated to explode simultaneously on the 29th of January, or during the following night: that monomania, which has never ceased to possess the minds of the frantic chiefs of the Red-republican party, and which still entertains the vain dream that, if they rise, all the lower classes, or what they call "the people," must rise at their call, to fight in their wild cause, gave them support in their designs. Pretexts for discontent, at the same time, were not wanting. The project of the government for a general suppression of the clubs--a measure which they declared unconstitutional, gave a colour to disaffection and revolt; and hopes that fresh allies would join the insurrection gave the party a bold confidence, which it had not possessed since the days of June. The _garde mobile_, in fact, had been tampered with. The spirit of these young janissaries of the capital, for the most part but a year ago the mere _gamins de Paris_, always vacillating and little to be relied upon, spite of their deeds in June, had already been adroitly worked upon by the fostering of that jealousy which subsisted between them and the regular army into a more decided hatred, when a decree of the government for the reorganisation of the _corps_ was interpreted by the designing conspirators into an insult offered to the whole institution, and a preparatory measure to its total dissolution. Such insinuations, carefully fomented among these young troops, led to tumultuous demonstrations of disaffection and discontent. This ferment, so opportune for the designs of the Red republicans, induced them to believe that their hour of struggle and of approaching triumph was at hand: they counted on their new allies; all was ready for the outbreak. But the government was alive to the tempest rising around it; it was determined to do its duty to the country in _preventing_ the storm, rather than in suppressing it when once it should have broken forth. Hence the military preparations which, on the morning of the 29th of January, had once more rendered all Paris a fortress and a camp; hence the warning sound of the _rappel_, which at an early hour had once more roused all the citizens from their beds, and called alarmed faces forth at windows and upon balconies in the gloom of the dawn; hence the stern commanding words of General Changarnier, and the orders to the troops and the national guards, that any man attempting to raise a stone from the streets should be shot forthwith, and without mercy; hence the consternation with which the outpost allies of the Red republicans hurried back growling to their mysterious dens, wherever such may exist. Prevention was considered better than cure, in spite of the misinterpretations and misapprehensions to which it might be exposed, and by which it was subsequently assailed by the disappointed faction. Arrest then followed upon arrest; upwards of two hundred of the suspected chiefs of the conspiracy were hurried off to prison. Among them were former delegates to the once famous committee of the Luxembourg, whose conduct gave evidence of the results produced by the dangerous utopian theories set forth under the lectureship of M. Louis Blanc, and his noble friend the _soi-disant ouvrier_ Albert. Chiefs of the clubs bore them company in their incarceration; and the ex-Count D'Alton Shee, the _ex-élégant_ of the fashionable _salons_ of Paris, but now the socialist-atheist and anarchist, suffered the same penalty of his actions as leading member of the club "_De la Solidarité Républicaine_." Turbulent officers of the Garde Mobile underwent a similar fate. Even the national guard was not spared in the person of one of its superior officers, whose agitation and over-zealous movements excited suspicion; and, by the way, in the general summing up, arrest, imprisonment, restriction of liberty, may also take their place in the row as another little figure in the total.

The conspiracy, however, was suppressed; the insurrection failed entirely for the time; and Paris was told that it might be perfectly reassured, and doze quietly again upon its pillow, without any fear that Red-republicanism should again "murder sleep." But Paris, which has not learned yet to recover its old quiet habit of sleeping calmly, and has got too much fever in its system to close its eyes at will, is not to be lulled by such mere sedatives of ministerial assurance. Once roused in startled hurry from its bed again, and seeing the opiate of confidence which was beginning to work its effect in very small doses snatched from its grasp, it cannot calm its nerves at once. It will not be persuaded that the crisis is over, and has passed away for ever; like a child awakened by a nightmare, it looks into all sorts of dark holes and corners, thinking to see the spectre lurking there. It knows what it had to expect from the tender mercies of its pitiless enemies, had they succeeded in their will; what was the _programme_ of a new Red-republican rule--a _comité du salut public_, the _régime_ of the _guillotine_, the _épuration_ of suspected aristocrats, the confiscation of the property of emigrants, a tax of three _milliards_ upon the rich, a spoliation of all who "possess," the dissolution of the national guard, the exclusive possession of all arms by the _soi-disant_ people, and--but the list of such new-old measures of ultra-republican government would be too long; it is an old tale often told, and, after all, only a free translation from the measures of other times. Paris, then, knows all this; it knows the fanatic and inexpressible rage of its antagonist, to which the fever of madness lends strength; it allows itself to be told all sorts of fearful tales--how Socialists, in imitation of their London brethren, have hired some thousand apartments in different quarters of the capital, in order to light a thousand fires at once upon a given signal. It goes about repeating the old vague cry--"_Nous allons avoir quelque chose_;" and, however foolishly exaggerated its alarm, the results it experiences are the same--again want of confidence arising from anxiety, again suspension of trade, again a renewal of misery. The fresh want of confidence, then, with all the attendant evils in its train, may again, as the year of republicanism approaches to its close, be taken as another figure in the sum-total that is sought.