The Ox and Cow.
an any body imagine a more perfect picture of quiet contentment, than a
company of cows that have finished their toils for the day, and have
come at early evening to chew their cud, and to reward their patrons for
the supply of green grass that has been afforded them? There are two
such amiable cows represented in the engraving on the opposite page. The
artist has portrayed them standing before a huge pottery, where they
seem to be very much at home, and at peace with all the world. Their
thoughts—if they have any, and doubtless they have, a good many of
them—are those of the most tranquil and placid nature. Perhaps they are
edifying each other with reflections on the great advantages of the
mechanic arts, and the art of making earthen ware in particular. The old
cow is a genuine philosopher. She makes the best of every thing. Seldom,
very seldom, does she allow herself to get excited. As for being angry,
she makes such a bungling piece of work of it, whenever she does indulge
in a little peevishness, that she seems to cool off at once, from the
very idea of the ludicrous figure she makes. Generally, she takes the
world easy. Her troubles are few. If the flies bite her—and they take
that liberty sometimes—she leisurely employs a wand she has at command,
and brushes them off. Nervous and excitable men might undoubtedly learn
a lesson from the philosophical old cow, if they would go to school to
her. They might learn that the true way to go through the world, is to
keep tolerably cool, and not to be breaking their heads against every
stone wall that happens to lie between them and the object of their
desire.
COWS TAKING THEIR COMFORT.
There are many anecdotes which prove that the ox and cow have a musical ear, as the phrase is. Professor Bell says that he has often, when a boy, tried the effect of the music of the flute on cows, and always observed that it produced great apparent enjoyment. Instances have been known of the fiercest bulls having been subdued and calmed into gentleness, by music of a plaintive kind.
There is a laughable story told of the effect of music on a bull. A fiddler, residing in the country, not far from Liverpool, was returning, at three o'clock in the morning, with his instrument, from a place where he had been engaged in his accustomed vocation. He had occasion to cross a field where there were some cows and a rather saucy bull. The latter took it into his head to assault the fiddler, who tried to escape. He did not succeed, however. The bull was wide awake, and could not let the gentleman off so cheap. The poor fellow then attempted to climb a tree. But the enraged animal would not permit him to do that. The fiddler, who had heard something about the wonderful power of music in subduing the rage of some of the lower animals, thinking of nothing else that he could do for his protection, got behind the tree, and commenced playing, literally for his life. Strange as it may appear, the animal was calmed at once, and appeared to be delighted with the music. By and by, the fiddler, finding that his enemy was entirely pacified, stopped playing, and started homeward, as fast as his legs would carry him. But the bull would not allow him to escape, and made after him. The poor fellow, fearing he should be killed, stopped, and went to fiddling again. The animal was pacified, as before. Our hero then plied the bow until his arm ached, and seizing, as he supposed, a favorable opportunity, he made another effort to run away. He was probably not accustomed to fiddle without pay, and he was pretty sure the customer he was now playing for intended to get his music for nothing. Well, the fiddler was no more successful this time than he was before. The fury of the bull returned, as soon as the strains ceased; and at last, the poor man surrendered himself to his fate, and actually played for the bull until six o'clock—about three hours in all—when some people came to his rescue. He must have been pretty well convinced, I think, while he was entertaining the bull in that manner, that
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast."
