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consider that the consumer of oleo has absolutely no protection either in law or natural conditions against the use of the most deleterious of material. By the aid of chemistry the foulest of fats can be deodorized and rendered agreeable to the taste. Butter always advertises its true condition, and no man has any need to be deceived. Not so with oleomargarine. It is a compound fat, and the law has not established any standard of safety or purity in its construction. All the protection the consumer has is the greed of the manufacturer, and anyone can readily see how little that protection is. I was talking with a friend last week, who said, “We are in a serious strait on this question. How can we make any enactment against this article? How can we say anything against a food product, if people want it?” I said, “You cannot, but let mo give you a way out of it. This is simply a question of imitation, and imitation is based on a fraud always.” To imitate may be the sincerest of flattery, and it is; but it is always a fraud, and a fraud finds instinctive hostility in all principles of law, and consequently I think the proper thing to do is to compel it to appear in its own color, and not masquerade in the color of real butter. Let it select any color it has a mind to but the butter color. New Hampshire has cut the Gordian knot, and told oleomargarine to parade in pink. The result is that oleo does not parade in pink in New Hampshire. It does not want to be recognized.

I am to speak to you to-night upon “ The Dairy Temperament of Cows." Allow me to preface the desultory remarks I shall make by saying that for thirty years I have been a student along certain lines connected with the functions of dairy cattle, and for these thirty years I have been patiently pursuing certain lines of investigation, and collecting data upon almost every point independently of all others; so that on some of the points concerning which I shall speak to you to-night I have data reaching as high as from three to eight thousand in number. About four or five years ago I commenced lecturing in our institutes in the West upon this question, and I made the statement that I believed that all the functions of motherhood were based upon

the nervous temperament. I began to see that temperament had a very

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wide application to two things: first, to form; and second,
to function; that the idea of temperament governed these
two with wonderful faithfulness and accuracy. Now, let me
illustrate. I want to get this idea into your minds clearly,
so that you will not be confused in following me. Tempera-
ment, I say, governs form and function. It is so in men.
There are certain functions or adaptabilities that men have
who possess certain temperaments, and they do not have
them if they possess other temperaments. First, there are
certain pursuits which may be denominated the pursuits of
the nervous temperament. Take the occupations which
require a light manipulation of the hand,-music, for instance.


if you ever knew in your life a man with a short, pudgy finger to be a skilful piano player? Did you ever know a man to play the violin that had that sort of a finger,-a short, fat, blunt, pudgy shaped finger? “But," you say, “ what has that to do with it?” Did you ever know a man with that form of hand to possess what is known as the neryous temperament or the sanguine temperament? On the contrary, bave you not always noticed that a man with a hand shaped like that is phlegmatic, has the fleshproducing tendency? There is a tendency in such temperaments to a construction of adipose tissue.

You see that temperament shapes the form and that function follows form. This is particularly true with men. You see men following certain lines of pursuit agreeing in the outlines of their forms very largely. What makes the Yankee so universally a mechanic? It is because he is a lean, bony, nervous-temperament man; very few of them are of the phlegmatic or adipose temperament. You may find an exception here and there, but there are exceptions to all rules.

Now, temperament governs form very largely, and function. It is so in animals. The nervous temperament predominates in dairy cattle, in dogs that are bred for speed and scent, in horses that are bred for speed, and in fowls that are bred for fighting. The game-cock is essentially a bird of a nervous temperament; the race-horse is essentially a horse of a nervous temperament; the dairy cow is essentially a cow of a nervous temperament; and the hunting

dog is universally a dog of a nervous temperament. This is peculiarly seen in dogs. I have been a breeder of dogs, and I have been quite a student of them. The bull-dog, the birddog, the setter or the pointer, has a construction always agreeing in function with his temperament. The fox-hound the same way. There is something very interesting when you take the physiological basis of these animals, or the physiological basis of all animals, and commence to study function from the basis of temperament, and then deduce from it the laws that should govern you in handling and feeding them. The animal of the nervous temperament requires a different food, seems to have a different order of assimilation. The dairy cow has to be fed differently from a beef animal, if she carries out her function.

Now, these things apply largely, my friends, in our study of the laws of breeding. When we come to breeding, then we are dealing with the physiology of the question, and we are supposed to be “as gods, knowing good from evil.” The difficulty with the average cow of Massachusetts and Wisconsin is that she has been bred with scarcely any reference to her temperament and to her purpose. Intelligence has not gone ahead and guided the life that was to come; and, as a consequence, the average farmer has been breeding blindly, — dealing with these wonderfully deep forces, and dealing with them blindly. If there is a man on earth who is God's vicegerent here, it is the breeder, the man to whom God has delegated the power to handle and shape life.

These thoughts-I am only outlining them now a littlehave led me to make a special study of dairy cattle for thirty years; and I found, as I began to divide the question upon temperament, the reasons that had produced the animal. I found that, wherever you had a dairy cow of a decided and distinct specialty of purpose and function, you had a cow of agreeing temperament, though she might be of a different breed. Now, here is a Guernsey cow, and there is a Holstein cow. (Referring to the illustrations.) You see in the two cows a peculiar agreement of outline, contour, appearance and expression. Both of them are of decidedly nervous temperament. Now, nervous temperament, as I said, has a remarkable effect upon form. It produces the

lean and bony outline and make-up which we designate as belonging to the nervous temperament. It has a remarkable effect upon the construction of the bones. Look at the picture of a Hereford heifer. She is as thorough a thoroughbred as the Guernsey or llolstein; yet, if you could analyze her bones, you would find them of a totally different make, and varying in a manner highly instructive to you as you put them under the microscope. Let me give you an illustration. Two thousand years ago an old Arab said, “ Form is everything to purpose." Now, he had a distinct purpose in his mind in breeding, and that was to produce a horse that would carry his rider over the sand of the Sahara, fetlock deep, twenty miles, and never break his gallop, and then carry him forty miles more. The Arabian horse is not so swift as the thoroughbred English race-horse for a short distance, but he has tremendous staying power. Where does he get it? In the first place, he is rightly built in the bones. At a lecture that I attended some twenty-five years igo, given by an English surgeon, he gave a very fine illustration of the difference of the effect of breeding upon bone. He had two inches of the bone between the gambrel and the fetlock joint of a thoroughbred Kentucky race-horse, and a corresponding piece of bone from a Conestoga draft-borse, weighing nineteen hundred pounds. The appearance of a cross-section of those two bones as I looked at them was full of instruction. The Conestoga draft-horse bone was nearly a third larger than that of the race-horse, yet the race horse bone weighed the most; and the lecturer told me that the bones of that race-horse were stronger when he was in life than any two pieces of steel of similar size that could be forged. I said, “ Doctor, can that be possible?” “Yes,” said he ; "I will prove it to you. His weight was nine hundred and fifty pounds; his average leap was twenty and when in life those two bones sustained the shock of projecting nine hundred and fifty pounds twenty feet at a throw for a mile. Could any two pieces of steel of similar size have endured the strain, had they been put in place of the bones?” Here, my friends, we see the marvelous wisdom that has attended the long line of intellect and judgment from the Arab down to the man who is breeding that horse to-day for a specific purpose. They have not been governed by any notions, but have kept within the line and maintained their purpose, and the horse is what he is.


I have said that this distinct effect of breeding on temperament was shown clearly in dogs. (I will come to the cattle pretty soon.) Have you ever, my friends, noticed the effect of breeding in a straight, specific line upon dogs? Take, for instance, the bird-dog, the setter or pointer. He has as sharp a nose as any dog in the world, and a very peculiar, delicate power of scent.

of scent. Take the fox-hound. He has a nose just as sharp. Wonderfully delicate are his discernings. I have seen one regain a track after twentyfour hours had elapsed, and slowly and carefully, painfully, you might say, work it out.

One would not suppose that in the filamentary intelligence of that dog's brain there could come any discernment; but it was there. The wonders of nature are not wrapped up in the form of man altogether. Now, there are those two dogs. One of them has been bred specifically to discern the scent of birds. He will cross a thousand fox tracks, and never know it, – pay no attention whatever to them ; but let him range a field in front of you, and the moment that he strikes the track of a bird you see the result of years of breeding in the suddenly arrested pose of that dog. You see him stand and stiffen, and there comes to him the answer of his purpose,

a purpose commenced back hundreds of years ago, and augmented by increasing efforts every year, until he is the product of it to-day. A fox-hound beating over the ground crosses a thousand bird tracks, and never knows it. His power of scent is just as great as that of the bird-dog, but the purpose is different. Suddenly he strikes the track of a fox, and then he lifts his head and exclaims, in the hound's tongue, “ Eureka! Eureka!” — "I have found him." “Found what, Mr. Foxhound?” “ Found that for which I was bred, — found a fox track.”

Now, what I complain of, my friends, is that the breeders of dairy cattle have not been dealing with these forces one hundredth part as intelligently as has the breeder of the horse, the breeder of the dog, or the breeder of the chicken. Those men have set their eyes upon the purpose which they

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