“How many? Why five-and-twenty-thousand sheep, and forty-one-hundred beasts.” “Ah! no more than an ordinary market, Sir,” said Mr. Bovington’s new friend; “yet you see and hear what’s now going on to wedge these numbers in. And it stands to reason, if you’ve got to jam together a fourth more animals than there is space for, there _must_ be cruelty.” “How much legitimate accommodation is there?” asked Mr. Bovington. “There are pens for two-and-twenty-thousand sheep and they can tie up twenty-seven-hundred beasts. Well! you hear; room has already been ‘spoke for,’ or bespoken, for three-thousand more sheep and fourteen-hundred more cattle than there is proper space for.” “What becomes of the surplus?” “The beasts are formed, in the thoroughfares and in the outskirts of the market, into what we call ‘off-droves;’ and the sheep wait outside, anywhere, till they can get in.” Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden increase in the demoniacal noises. Opposite the speakers, was a row of panting oxen, each fastened by a slip-noose to a rail, as closely as their heads could be jammed together. Some more were being tied up, and one creature had just escaped. Instantly a dozen hoarse voices yelled: “Out! out! out!” The cry was echoed by a dozen others. “Out! out! out!” A wild hunt followed, and then a shower of blows on the back, horns and sides, of the luckless truant. The concentrated punishment of two dozen drovers’ sticks made the bull too glad to resume its original station. It was then tied up, so tightly, that the swelled tongue protruded. That the poor brute should be rendered powerless for motion for some time to come, it was ‘hocked;’—that is to say, tremendous blows were inflicted on its hind legs till it was completely hobbled. Mr. Bovington was glad it was not one of his bullocks. “Are _many_ strangled by these tight nooses?” he asked. “A good many in the course of the year, I should say. All the rails are full now, and the off-droves are beginning.” The battle raged faster and more furious than ever. In order to make the most of the room, they were forming ‘ring-droves;’ that is, punishing the animals till a certain number had turned all their heads together so as to form the inside of a circle—which at last they did, to avoid the blows inflicted on them. Mr. Bovington’s blood ran cold as he witnessed the cruelty necessary for this evolution. After every imaginable torment had been practised, to get them into the right position, a stray head would occasionally protrude—where a tail should be—on the outside of the ring. Tremendous blows were then repeated on the nose, neck, and horns, till the tortured animal could turn; and when he succeeded, the goad was ‘jobbed’ into his flanks till he could wedge himself in, so as to form his own proper radius of the dense circle.