150

HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

all used to their full liberty, and able to run
or leap well, was a serious affair. If no keeper
was at hand to separate them, and the fight
got serious, so that one of them fell wounded,
it was a chance but the whole herd would
surround the fallen cow, and kill her. This
was not out of wickedness, but something in
the whole affair that put them beside them-
selves, and they couldn't bear the horrid sight,
and so tried to get rid of their feelings, as
well as the unfortunate object, by this wild vio-
lence. The effect was the same if the herd did
not witness the fight, but came suddenly to the
discovery of blood that had been spilt. They
would stare at it, and glare at it, and snuff
down at it, and sniff up at it, and prowl round
it—and get more and more excited, till at last
the whole herd would begin to rush about the
field bellowing and mad, and make nothing at
last of leaping clean over hedges, fences, and
five-barred gates. But strange to say—if the
blood they found had not been spilt by vio-
lence, but only from some cause which the
"horned beauties " understood, such as a
sister or aunt having been bled by the doctor
—then no effect of the sort occurred. They
took no notice of it.

We found that besides beauty, cows pos-
sessed some imagination, and were moreover
very susceptible. The above excitement and
mad panic sometimes occurs from other
causes. Once some boys brought a great kite
into the field, with a pantomime face painted
upon it; and directly this began to rise over
the field, and the cows looked up at it, and
saw the great glass eyes of the face looking
down at them—than Oh! Oh! what a bel-
lowing!—and away they rushed over each
other, quite frantic. On another occasion
some experimental gentlemen of science
brought a fire balloon near the pasturage one
night after dark. It rose. Up started all the
cows in a panic, and round and round they
rushed, till finally the whole herd made a
charge at one of the high fences—tore down
and overleaped everything—burst into the
lanes, and made their way into the high road,
and seemed to intend to leave their owners
for some other state of existence where fire-
balloons and horrid men of science were alike
unknown.

Instead of proceeding directly down the
sloping fields towards the Dairy Farm, we
made a detour of about half a mile, and passed
through a field well enclosed, in which were
about a dozen cows, attended by one man, who
sat beneath a tree. This was the Quarantine
ground. All newly purchased cows, however
healthy they may appear, are first placed in
this field during four or five weeks, and the
man who milks or attends upon them is not
permitted to touch, nor indeed to come near,
any of the cows in the great pasture. Such is
the susceptibility of a cow to the least conta-
mination, that if one who had any slight
disease were admitted among the herd, in a
very short time the whole of them would be

affected. When the proprietor has been to
purchase fresh stock, and been much among
strange cows, especially at Smithfield, he in-
variably changes all his clothes, and generally
takes a bath before he ventures among his
own herd.

From what has already been seen, the
reader will not be astonished on his arrival
with us at the Dairy Farm, to find every ar-
rangement in accordance with the fine condi-
tion of the cows, and the enviable (to all other
cows) circumstances in which they live. The
cow-sheds are divided into fifty stalls, each
and the appearance presented reminded one
of the neatness and order of cavalry stables.
Each stall is marked with a number; a cor-
responding number is marked on one horn of
the cow to whom it belongs; and in winter
time, or any inclement season (for they all
sleep out in fine weather) each cow delibe-
rately finds out, and walks into her own stall.
No. 173 once got into the stall of No. 15; but
in a few minutes No. 15 arrived, and " showed
her the difference." In winter, when the
cows are kept very much in-doors, they are
all regularly groomed with currycombs.
By the side of one of these sheds there is a
cottage where the keepers live—milkers and
attendants—each with little iron bedsteads,
all in orderly soldier fashion, the foreman's
wife acting as the housekeeper.

These men lead a comfortable life, but they
work hard. The first " milking " begins at
eleven o'clock at night; and the second at
half-past one in the morning. It takes a long
time, for each cow insists upon being milked
in her own pail—i. e. a pail to herself, con-
taining no milk of any other cow—or, if she
sees it, she is very likely to kick it over. She
will not allow of any mixture. In this there
would seem a strange instinct, accordant with
her extreme susceptibility to contamination.

The milk is all passed through several
strainers, and then placed in great tin cans,
barred across the top, and sealed. They are
deposited in a van, which starts from the
Farm about three in the morning, and arrives
at the Dairy in Farringdon Street between
three and four. The seals are then carefully
examined, and taken off by a clerk. In come
the carriers, commonly called " milkmen," all
wearing the badge of Friern Farm Dairy;
their tin pails are filled, fastened at top, and
sealed as before, and away they go on their
early rounds, to be in time for the early
breakfast-people. The late-breakfasts are
provided by a second set of men.

Such are the facts we have ascertained
with regard to one of the largest, of the
great Dairy Farms near London; so that
from this, and other farms similarly con-
ducted, it is quite clear that by taking a
little pains to ascertain where, a Londoner
may, if he chooses, obtain pure, rich, milk " as
it comes from the cow." That the previous
accounts we have given of the adulterations
of London milk are equally true, we are, to a