"The bull es a useful animal, an' when dead supplies us wi' rump-steaks an' shoe-horns, as the Sunday-school book says: but for all that there's suthin' _lackin'_ to a bull. 'Tain't conviction: you niver seed a bull yet as wasn' chuck-full o' conviction, an' didn' act up to hes rights, such as they be. An' 'tain't consistency: you drill a notion into a bull's head an' fix et, an' he'll save et up, may be for six year, an' then rap et out on 'ee till you'm fairly sick for your own gad-about ways. 'Tes logic he wants, I reckon--jest logic. A bull, sir, es no more'n a mass o' blind onreas'ning prejudice from horn to tail. Take hes sense o' colour: he can't abide red. Ef you press the matter, there ain't no more reas'n for this than that hes father afore him cudn' abide et; but how does he act? 'Hulloa!' says he, 'there's a party in red, an' I don't care a tinker's cuss whether 'tes a mail-cart or a milisha-man: I'm bound to stop this 'ere taste for red ef I dies nex' minnit.' And at et he goes accordin'. Ef he seed the Scarlet Woman about in his part o' the country, he'd lay by an' h'ist her, an' you'd say, 'Well done!' an' I don't say you'd be wrong. But jest you stop an' ax hes motives, an' you'll find 'taint religion. Lor' bless 'ee, sir, a bull's got no more use for religion than a toad for side-pockets. 'Tes obstinacy--that's what 'tes. You tells me a jackass es obstinate. Well, an' that's true in a way; and so's a hog. Ef you wants quiet contrariness, a jackass or a hog'll both _sit out_ a bull; an' tho' you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a fuz'-bush on a dewy mornin', 'tes like heavin' bricks into a bott'mless pit. But a bull ups an' lets 'ee know; there aint no loiterin' round an' arrangin' yer subjec' under heads when _he's_ about. You don't get no pulpit; an', what's more, you don't stop to touch your hat when you makes your congees. 'Tes just pull hot-foot, and thank the Lord for hedges; 'cos he's so full o' his own notions as a Temp'rance speaker, an' bound to convence 'ee, ef he rams daylight in 'ee to do et. That's a bull. An' here's anuther p'int; he lays head to ground when hes beliefs be crossed, an' you may so well whissle as try the power o' the human eye--talkin' o' which puts me i' mind o' some curious fac's as happ'n'd up to Penhellick wan time, along o' this same power o' the human eye. Maybe you'd like to hear the yarn." "Eh?" Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction. "Yes, certainly, I should like to hear it." Caleb knocked his pipe meditatively against the bars of the grate; filled it again and lit it; took an energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began without more ado. CHAPTER XI. OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK TO GOOD PRINCIPLES.