"Milking Song" is another flower of poesy that has
sprung up in my divinity's footsteps.

What a variety of individualities a herd of cows presents when you have
come to know them all, not only in form and color, but in manners and
disposition! Some are timid and awkward, and the butt of the whole
herd. Some remind you of deer. Some have an expression in the face
like certain persons you have known. A petted and well-fed cow has a
benevolent and gracious look; an ill-used and poorly fed one, a pitiful
and forlorn look. Some cows have a masculine or ox expression; others
are extremely feminine. The latter are the ones for milk. Some cows
will kick like a horse; some jump fences like deer. Every herd has its
ringleader, its unruly spirit,--one that plans all the mischief, and
leads the rest through the fences into the grain or into the orchard.
This one is usually quite different from the master spirit, the "boss of
the yard." The latter is generally the most peaceful and law-abiding cow
in the lot, and the least bullying and quarrelsome. But she is not to be
trifled with; her will is law; the whole herd give way before her, those
that have crossed horns with her and those that have not, but yielded
their allegiance without crossing. I remember such a one among my
father's milkers when I was a boy,--a slender-horned, deep-shouldered,
large-uddered, dewlapped old cow that we always put first in the long
stable, so she could not have a cow on each side of her to forage upon;
for the master is yielded to no less in the stanchions than in the
yard. She always had the first place anywhere. She had her choice of
standing-room in the milking-yard, and when she wanted to lie down there
or in the fields the best and softest spot was hers. When the herd were
foddered from the stack or barn, or fed with pumpkins in the fall, she
was always first served. Her demeanor was quiet but impressive. She
never bullied or gored her mates, but literally ruled them with the
breath of her nostrils. If any new-comer or ambitious younger cow,
however, chafed under her supremacy, she was ever ready to make good her
claims. And with what spirit she would fight when openly challenged!
She was a whirlwind of pluck and valor; and not after one defeat or two
defeats would she yield the championship. The boss cow, when overcome,
seems to brood over her disgrace, and day after day will meet her rival
in fierce combat.

A friend of mine, a pastoral philos