In the market square, in parallel lines or
streets, diverging from a central clock tower
(if any point can be the centre of a square),
thousands of fat cattle are ranged, each tied
by the head to a rail, which forms one side
of a narrow lane. There are thirteen
thousand feet of these rails. Thus there are
broad streets bordered by tails and living legs,
destined, when dead, for soup; where the
salesmen stand, ash-stick in hand, and receive
their customers, who stroll up and down,
pricing, bargaining, and finally buying; and
there are narrow lanes, bordered on each side
by horned or polled heads, meekly awaiting
their doom;—these lanes being useful as
affording views of the forequarters of the
cattle, and providing convenient thoroughfares
through the market. One side of the
square, divided by the clock and an avenue,
is devoted to beasts; the other to one thousand
eight hundred sheep-pens, and pig-pens, with
a special elevated roofed platform for calves—
at this particular time of year chiefly occupied
by sheep-dogs, resting from their drover duties.

The clock tower, contrived a double or say
"treble debt to pay," contains on its basement
the "Cattle Banks," institutions peculiar
to the London butcher trade; a druggist's
shop, equally provided with medicaments for
man and beast, distinguished from all
ordinary druggists by barrels of red ruddle,
for the supply of sheep-purchasing
customers; and a retail warehouse of warm
jackets and blankets, thick boots, bridles
and saddles—once shipped in haste for the
Crimean army, now sold dirt cheap.

A survey from the clock tower, shows, on
one side, several acres of white squares with
black borders. These are the sheep pens; on
the other, parallelograms of divers cattle
colours,—red most prevails; and, next to that,
the most popular cow colour, white mixed with
red; here and there a score or so of white faces
on red bodies mark a batch of Herefords, huge
oxen only to be raised on good fat pastures.
Black and dark gray patches, and pale dun,
tell of Scots and of Welsh mountaineers;
while, in a remote corner, black, mottled, and
white, hail from the polders and grain
distilleries of Holland. In no part of the market
is there any crowd or confusion; the fat beasts,
comfortably tied, are as quiet as if in a fold-
yard; and, as for the butchers in search of
beef and mutton, they are lost in space.
Noise, except a bellow now and then, a little
bleating, or the distant barking of a
discontented dog imprisoned in a calf pen, there
is none. The scene is not Arcadian, although
greenfields are to be seen beyond, not yet
invaded by the bricklayer; it is more like a
well-ordered camp at day-break, substituting
beeves for chargers.

Descending to terra firma and details, I
began my march, meeting from time to time
with many a country friend, interested in the
sale of a dozen fat oxen or a few score of fat
sheep. On the window of the market office
the numbers entered for sale are written up:
          

              3500 cattle; 18,560 sheep.

There was at least a quarter of a million of
pounds of live beef, without counting the offal,
loose fat, or suet, which costs the butcher
nothing, and forms at Christmas time, say from
December to the end of January, an important
part of the butcher's profit in sale for plum-
puddings. A fat ox on a pedestal of plum-
pudding would typify, better than any of the
old-fashioned emblems, modern British
agriculture; for, without the pudding it would
be difficult to say what would become of the
extra fat, which roots, cake, and corn combine
to lay up on Christmas prize cattle.

Of the day's supply, the largest, the fattest,
and the youngest were, as they always are,
Short Horns, invented by the brothers Collinge,
improved by a long series of breeders
down to the late Earls Spencer and Ducie;
the present brothers Booth of Killerby; Sir
Charles Knightley, of fox-hunting fame;
Squire Townley, a Lancashire militia colonel;
Richard Stratton, a yeoman-farmer of
Wiltshire; Gunter, a militia captain of Middlesex
(a name eminent for sweets as well as roasts),
and a crowd of others, amongst whom are
divers Scotchmen; and, among Irishmen, Lord
Talbot de Malahide and Captain Ball. Of
Short Horns and their crosses,—the true meat
for the million, which, fifty years ago, was
scarcely known out of three northern counties,
and which is fit for the butcher at an age when
most other breeds are little better than
hobbledehoy calves,—it was estimated that
full three thousand oxen and fat cows and
heifers stood in the great market, held before
Christmas, and not one of the Long Horns, the
prime breed of Arthur Young's time. Short
Horns are bred now every where, and fed
everywhere. They are bred side by side with native
breeds in northern Scotland, and as far south
as Devonshire. In Ireland they are superseding
the native Long Horned breed to such
an extent as to afford a great export of
yearlings, which finish their education in
the warm yards, stalls, and boxes of the
Midland and Metropolitan counties. Next
in size and beef-making qualities is the
huge red white-faced Hereford ox, fattened
to perfection alike on Shropshire pastures
and Midland grass, feeding also on corn
cake and roots. The Hereford cow, unlike
the Short Horn, is small and insignificant,
of small value in the dairy, although affording
neat juicy ribs and sirloins. The Hereford
is not, and never will be widely spread, like
the Short Horn; he is rarely found, out of
three or four counties round the city that gives
him his name; only one nobleman, the Duke
of Bedford, out of that district breeds him; for
he has no reputation as a cross for improving
other breeds, while the Short Horn improves,
whether for milk or beef, every breed. But, he
is a great favourite with the butcher. In
trade term, he dies well. In his native district
he has a reputation as being powerful and