ny 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.

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 suc