A few years ago, when Antony and Cleopatra was reproduced at a London theatre by an eminent actor-manager, it was reported that his mind was much exercised over the lines referring to the flight of Pompey’s galley: 

     “The breese upon her, like a cow in June,
     Hoists sails and flies.”

It was suggested that for “cow,” the correct reading should be “crow,” who might very well spread her wings to the breeze and fly.  The difficulty was caused by the word “breese” (the gad-fly)—­no doubt presumed to be an archaic spelling of “breeze.”  Shakespeare knew all about farming, as about nearly everything else, and a year on a farm would illustrate many of his allusions which the ordinary reader finds somewhat cryptic; anyone who has seen the terrified stampede of cattle with their tails erect when attacked by the gad-fly, will recognize the force of the simile.  The gad-fly pierces the skin of the animal, laying its eggs beneath, just as the ichneumon makes use of a caterpillar to provide a host for its progeny.  No doubt the operation is a painful one, but the caterpillar may survive, even into its chrysalis stage, and the cow in due time is relieved, after an uncomfortable experience, by the exit of the maggot or fly.

A branch of the Roman road, Ryknield Street, commonly called Buckle Street, leaving the former near Bidford-on-Avon and running over the Cotswolds via Weston Subedge, was known in former times as Buggilde or Buggeld Street, derived possibly from the Latin buculus, a young bullock.  No doubt vast herds of cattle traversed the road from the vale to the hills, or vice versa, according to the abundance of keep and the time of year.  Similar roads in Dorset and Wiltshire are still known as “ox droves,” and in the former county, at least, both young heifers and bullocks are known as “bullicks.”

Cattle are subject to all manner of disorders which, though puzzling to the owner to diagnose, are not as a rule beyond the skill of a good veterinary surgeon to alleviate; but there are also accidents which are much more annoying, being impossible to foresee.  I had occasional losses from the latter causes:  once in the night when a cow was thrown on her back into a deep brick manger; and once when a small piece of sacking, part of a decorticated cotton-cake bag, was somehow mixed in with the food, and induced internal inflammation.

It is a difficult matter for a farmer when selling fat cattle direct to the butcher, to compete with him in a correct estimate of the weight, and it is therefore advisable to sell at a price per pound of the dead weight when dressed; this, however, is not always feasible, and a very close estimate can be arrived at by measurement of the girth and length of the live animal, following rules laid down in the handbooks on the subject of fat stock.  It is a mistake to suppose that the fattening of stock is a profitable undertaking per se.  On all