in conversation. No matter how long she
waited her opportunity, Mrs. Goodheart never left without hearing
something of the exploits of this remarkable bull. In truth, he was a
handsome, well-bred fellow. He had come from the Squire's--so you may be
sure his breed was gentlemanly in the extreme; and his grandmother, on
the maternal side, had belonged to the Bishop of Winchester; so you have
a sufficient guarantee, I hope, for his moral character and orthodox
principles. Indeed, it had been said that no dissenter dared pass
through the meadow where he was, in consequence of his connection with
the Establishment. Now, on the occasions when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpkin took
their walks abroad through the meadows to see their lambkins and their
bull skip, this is what would invariably happen. First, Mrs. Bumpkin
would go through the little cosy-looking gate in the corner of the
meadow, right down by the side of the old boat-house; then Mr. Bumpkin
would follow, holding his long pipe in one hand and his ash-stick in the
other. Then, away in the long distance, at the far end of the meadow (he
was always up there on these occasions), stood "Sampson" (that was the
bull), with his head turned right round towards his master and mistress,
as if he were having his photograph taken. Thus he stood for a moment;
then down went his huge forehead to the ground; up went his tail to the
sky; then he sent a bellow along the earth which would have frightened
anybody but his "mother," and started off towards his master and mistress
like a ship in a heavy sea; sometimes with his keel up in the air, and
sometimes with his prow under water: it not only was playful, it was
magnificent, and anybody unaccustomed to oxen might have been a little
terrified by the furious glare of his eyes and the terrible snort of his
nostrils as he approached.

Not so Mrs. Bumpkin, who held out her hand, and ejaculated,

"My pretty baby; my sweet pet; good Sampson!" and many other expressions
of an endearing character.

"Good Sampson" looked, snorted, danced, plunged and careered; and then
came up and let Mrs. Bumpkin stroke and pat him; while Bumpkin looked on,
smoking his pipe peacefully, and thinking what a fine fellow he, the
bull, was, and what a great man he, Bumpkin, must be to be the possessor
of "sich!"

Thus the peaceful afternoon would glide quietly and sweetly away, and so
would the bull, after the interesting interview was over.

They always retur