[Illustration:
_A Tribute of
REGARD,
PRESENTED BY
Thy Affectionate
Friend_]
[Illustration: Frontispiece.
_The Farm Yard._]
A
VISIT
TO
A FARM HOUSE;
OR,
AN INTRODUCTION
TO
VARIOUS SUBJECTS
CONNECTED WITH
RURAL ECONOMY.
EMBELLISHED WITH BEAUTIFUL PLATES.
_By S. W._
AUTHOR OF “A VISIT TO LONDON.”
SEVENTH EDITION,
REVISED AND CORRECTED
_By T.H._
LONDON:
WILLIAM DARTON, 58, HOLBORN HILL.
And to be had of all Booksellers.
1820.
(Entered at Stationers’ Hall.)
[PRICE HALF-A-CROWN.]
PREFACE.
This little Work was undertaken to excite the attention of those
children, who live in the country, to the various objects by which they
are surrounded; and to furnish those residing in the metropolis and other
large cities, with some information relative to rural economy, which
their situation prevents them acquiring by personal observation.
The author acknowledges that she is totally incompetent deeply to discuss
the phenomena of nature, or the science of agriculture; she should
indeed think it inconsistent to introduce scientific researches into
a Work of this kind. But a slight investigation of the simple arts by
which the nourishment of man is effected, or of some of those wonders of
creative power which daily present themselves to view, cannot, in her
opinion, be deemed an improper exercise even at an early age.
VISITS TO A FARM HOUSE.
CHAPTER I.
_Cows._
“What a delightful morning!” exclaimed little Arthur Benson on opening
his eyes, and seeing the sun shine bright into his room; “Charles,
Charles,” continued he, turning to his brother, who was still asleep,
“let us get up directly, and we shall have time for a little walk before
grandpapa and grandmamma come down stairs.” Charles obeyed the summons,
and they were soon dressed. They then went into the garden, and from the
garden into the field adjoining; both highly pleased with all they saw,
for they had never slept out of London before, and the country was quite
a new scene to them. “See,” said Charles, “how all the cows are gathered
together by that gate; and here comes a man they call old Ralph with a
pail on his arm. Pray, Ralph, what do the cows want there?” “They want
to be milked,” said Ralph, “and through that gate is the way to the farm
yard.” “Are _you_ going to milk them, and may we come with you?” inquired
Arthur.
Leave being given, they tripped along by the side of the good old
servant; but both stood at some distance behind when they came near the
cows, as they felt rather afraid of going close to such large animals.
“Why, now, masters, what is there to be afraid of?” said Ralph, who found
they had left off talking and suddenly shrunk back. “The cows will not
hurt you, if you do not hurt them.” “Don’t they sometimes toss people
with their great horns?” asked Charles. “Here and there you may meet with
a vicious one,” replied the man, “but in common they are very gentle.”
_Arthur._ I remember my papa told me never to run in the way of the cows
that we meet in London streets.
_Ralph._ Aye, that is a very different thing. The poor cattle are not
used to be there, so sometimes they may be frightened; and then, the
butchers are often cruel, and will beat and drive them about, as I have
heard, so that for what I know it may be best to keep out of their way;
but here there is nothing of the sort. I do not ill use them, and they
are always quiet with me.
The little Bensons then recovered from their fears, and wanted to milk
the cows themselves. The trial was made, and they were surprised to find
that they were not able to do it as well as Ralph. Had they been older,
they would have known that there are many things which are easy to those
who are accustomed to do them, that one who had never tried would find
difficult.
“Pray, Ralph,” asked Arthur, “why has the young calf that thing full of
spikes round his mouth? See, he wants to suck the black cow, and she will
not let him. Cannot you take it off?”
“Oh no, master Arthur, it is time the calf should be weaned. He is old
enough now to eat grass, and we want the milk for the dairy; so we put
the spikes on him, and because of them, as they would hurt her, the
mother will not let him suck any more.”
“Is he to be killed?” inquired Charles.
“Not at present,” replied the old man. “Master means to keep him to draw
in the team.”
“To draw in the team!” said Charles with some surprise.
“Yes,” returned Ralph; “we have always a team of oxen. You may see them
ploughing in that field yonder; just there,” continued he, pointing with
his finger, “beyond the holly hedge.”
“I see them; I see them,” said Arthur. “Poor creatures! how slow they go!
Are not they tired, Ralph?” “No, sir,” replied Ralph, “they do not move
so quick as horses; but they are vastly stronger. And though it is not
always quite so easy to manage them, yet on the whole they answer very
well.”
Ralph had now finished milking: and taking the little boys into the
stable, he showed them a baby calf, as he called it, that was to be sold
to the butcher the next day.
[Illustration: _Page 6._
_The baby Calf._
_London. Published by W. Darton Jun. Oct. 5, 1815._]
“O you pretty little thing!” said Arthur. “Only look, Charles, at these
spots on its back. I should like to have it for my own. Why must it be
killed, pray?”
_Ralph._ To serve us for food, master Arthur. If we were to suffer all
the cattle to live, they would eat all the grass and corn that we could
grow; and then we should be starved, and you would not like that.
_Arthur._ No, I don’t want to starve; only I do not like to have things
killed.
At this moment Mr. Mansfield came into the stable.
“We were talking about this poor calf, grandpapa,” said Charles. “Ralph
says it is to be killed to-morrow to make veal. I am sorry for it; it
has such a pretty coat!”
“It cannot be helped, my dear,” replied his grandfather. “But when it
is dead, do you know what will be done with its pretty coat?” The boys
answering they did not, “It will be sold,” said he, “to the tanner, who
dresses the skins of cattle, or _hides_ as they are called; and when it
is properly prepared, it makes that beautiful, smooth kind of leather,
that the large books you were looking at last night were bound with. It
is often prepared to write upon, and is then called vellum. The skins of
oxen and cows make a thick coarse leather, such as the soles of our boots
and shoes.”
“And what becomes of the hair?” asked Charles.
“After the hide has been soaked for a long time,” replied Mr. Mansfield,
“it comes off easily, and is put into that kind of mortar which is used
to plaster walls, in order to keep them from crumbling and falling away.
Did you never see in a white wall broken down in part, a heap of short
hairs, and here and there perhaps a little loose piece of mortar hanging
to them?”
Arthur said he had, but he did not know it was cow-hair; and added, he
could not have thought it could have been of any use.
“Every thing is of use, my dear,” said Mr. Mansfield. “I doubt if you
can name a part of the cow that will not turn to some account.”
“What the hoofs, grandpapa?” said Charles.
“Yes, Charles,” returned Mr. Mansfield. “The hoofs and the parings of
the skin, by being boiled down to a strong jelly, make the glue which
carpenters use to join things together.”
_Arthur._ The horns—Oh, I know what is done with the horns. I have seen
horn lanterns, and I have got a little box at home that mamma says is
made of horn.
_Mr. Mansfield._ Very well, Arthur. And you may have seen boxes, and
knife-handles, and combs, and many other things, made of the bones of the
ox. Even the dung is of some use. It is a good manure for land; it is
used in the process for bleaching linen; and poor women pick it up when
it is dry, and make fires of it, to save coals.