At last the order of prizes is called out,
and jotted down by the clerk; the gate is
opened, and the two-year-old heifers are
driven out, to be succeeded in the pen by
the "one-year-old heifers," gathered from
different parts of the field with no little
noise and scampering. And so it is with
the "two-year-old stots," the "tne-year-old
stots," and various other classes. I have
no doubt the judges do their work with
thorough knowledge and impartiality, as
indeed the dozens of amateur judges around
me seem ready to admit, though I am too
great a novice to be able to discern with
any approach to exactitude the grounds of
their various awards. I do not know that
in this I am entirely singular either: for
here when a new lot is driven into the pen,
I overhear one of the kilted gentlemen—the
greatest laird in the parish, who smokes a
clay cutty, chats familiarly with his tenants,
and seems to take a lively interest in all that
is going on—directing the very favourable
attention of the judges to a showy-looking,
speckled cow as an animal of extraordinary
merit. These hard- headed gentlemen
simply smile an unbelieving smile; and I
watch how they will deal with this
particular animal, which seems to me also a
beast of uncommon merit, judging by her
giraffe-like height, and the beautiful speckling
all over her body. Alas, for amateur
opinion, they are not even at the trouble
to turn her aside for a moment's inspection;
and though the stentorian attendant
calls out six or seven prizes to cows, the
speckled cow is not admitted to even the
lowest place in the list!

After all the "general classes" have been
gone over there comes a special competition.
There are a couple of silver "challenge
cups" to be competed for; one for
the "best male," the other for the "best
female breeding animal on the ground."
And here both the interest and excitement
awakened by the day's proceedings culminate.
The man who would make the
challenge cup his own must take it three
years running against all competitors; and
the difficult nature of this feat finds
illustration in the fact that nobody has ever
yet succeeded in accomplishing it. On the
present occasion, I can perceive, the
competition runs some risk of tending to a war
of races. For the male cup a selection of
bulls, old and young, pawing the earth and
breathing forth threatenings and slaughter
against each other, are brought into the
ring; and, after much consultation, a young
but, as one can understand, very handsome
short-horned bull is declared entitled
to the high award; whereupon sundry of
the amateur judges around me mutter very
audible doubts about the equity of the
decision. The region in which we are is rather
famous for the production of that variety of
the bovine race known as "black polled,"
which, when fully "finished," stand at the
very top of the London butchers' price-lists
under the title of "prime Scots." And
the idea that any other than a black-polled
animal should carry off one of the chief
honours of the day does not command the
popular sympathy. However the equilibrium
of feeling is pretty well restored
when it is announced that the cup for females
has been carried off easily from a large lot of
competitors of divers breeds by a polled cow
of "uncommon sweetness," as my friend
assures me.

The "labours of the field" fairly over,
and certain adjustments about payment of
prize-money made, the next part of the
day's proceedings is the dinner, which
takes place in the largest of the canvas
booths already spoken of, the inn, near by,
not affording accommodation for a
company of sixty to seventy, such as is now
assembled. The kilted laird is chairman;
his vice, or "croupier" is a very hale-looking
man of Herculean build, not under
seventy years of age; and who from the
designation I hear applied to him on all
hands of the "el'er," I understand to be
a representative within the parish of the
lay element in the presbyterian kirk.

On the chairman's right sits the parson
of the parish; a comfortable, sedate-looking
man, with ruddy cheeks and bald head,
who has not deemed it beneath his dignity
to enter the lists with his parishioners, and
has honourably gained two or three prizes
at the show. To the left of the chairman
are the judges; and the rest of the
company take their places without any regard
to precedence. The toast list, as one
discovers by-and-bye, is a paper of portentous
length, enumerating well nigh thirty
separate "sentiments" from "The Queen"
downward; but luckily the speeches are
brief; for when the gentlemen of the
Glengillodram Agricultural Society get on their
legs their otherwise copious power of talk
seems notably to desert them. The one
really set or effective speech is when, in
reply to the toast of "The Clergy and the
Rev. Dr. Bluebell," the Rev. Dr. Bluebell
proceeds to vindicate the propriety of his
appearance there and then, amongst his
parishioners; and how it becomes a true