try, belong,
for the most part, to the Tartar-Mongols.

The long-haired cattle, in Chinese Tchang-Mao-Nieou, is called _yak_ by
the Thibetians, _sarligue_ by the Tartars, and _boeuf grognant_ by the
French naturalists. The cry of this animal does, in fact, resemble the
grunting of a hog; but louder in tone, and longer in duration. The yak
is short and thick, and not so big as an ordinary ox; its hair is long,
fine, and shining, that under the belly actually trailing on the around.
Its hoofs are meagre, and crooked, like those of goats; and, like the
goats, it delights in clambering up rocks, and impending over the most
rugged precipices. When at play, it twists and turns about its tail,
which terminates in a broad tuft, like a plume of feathers. The flesh is
excellent; the milk delicious, and the butter made of that milk beyond
all praise. Malte-Brun, indeed, says, that the milk of this animal
smacks of tallow. Matters of taste are generally open questions, but in
this particular instance we may anticipate that the presumption will be
somewhat in favour of our opinion, since, as we believe, the learned
geographer has not had the same opportunities with ourselves of drinking
the milk in the black tents, and appreciating its savour at leisure.

Among the herds of the Si-Fan, you find some yellow cattle, which are of
the same family with the ordinary cattle of France, but in general poor
and ugly. The calf of a long-haired cow and a yellow bull is called
Karba; these seldom live. The long-tailed cows are so restive and so
difficult to milk, that to keep them at all quiet, the herdsman has to
give them a calf to lick meanwhile. But for this device, not a single
drop of milk could be obtained from them.

One day, a Lama herdsman, who lived in the same house with ourselves,
came, with a long, dismal face, to announce that one of his cows had
calved during the night, and that unfortunately the calf was a karba.
The calf died in the course of the day. The Lama forthwith skinned the
poor beast, and stuffed it with hay. This proceeding surprised us at
first, for the Lama had by no means the air of a man likely to give
himself the luxury of a cabinet of natural history. When the operation
was completed, we remarked that the hay-calf had neither feet nor head;
hereupon it occurred to us that, after all, it was merely a pillow that
the Lama contemplated. We were in error, but the error was not
dissipated until the nex