Speaking of Latin reminds me that I once taught my cows Latin.  I don’t mean that I taught them to read it, for it is very difficult to teach a cow to read Latin or any of the dead languages,—­a cow cares more for her cud than she does for all the classics put together.  But if you begin early, you can teach a cow, or a calf (if you can teach a calf anything, which I doubt), Latin as well as English.  There were ten cows, which I had to escort to and from pasture night and morning.  To these cows I gave the names of the Roman numerals, beginning with Unus and Duo, and going up to Decem.  Decem was, of course, the biggest cow of the party, or at least she was the ruler of the others, and had the place of honor in the stable and everywhere else.  I admire cows, and especially the exactness with which they define their social position.  In this case, Decem could “lick” Novem, and Novem could “lick” Octo, and so on down to Unus, who could n’t lick anybody, except her own calf.  I suppose I ought to have called the weakest cow Una instead of Unus, considering her sex; but I did n’t care much to teach the cows the declensions of adjectives, in which I was not very well up myself; and, besides, it would be of little use to a cow.  People who devote themselves too severely to study of the classics are apt to become dried up; and you should never do anything to dry up a cow.  Well, these ten cows knew their names after a while, at least they appeared to, and would take their places as I called them.  At least, if Octo attempted to get before Novem in going through the bars (I have heard people speak of a “pair of bars” when there were six or eight of them), or into the stable, the matter of precedence was settled then and there, and, once settled, there was no dispute about it afterwards.  Novem either put her horns into Octo’s ribs, and Octo shambled to one side, or else the two locked horns and tried the game of push and gore until one gave up.  Nothing is stricter than the etiquette of a party of cows.  There is nothing in royal courts equal to it; rank is exactly settled, and the same individuals always have the precedence.  You know that at Windsor Castle, if the Royal Three-Ply Silver Stick should happen to get in front of the Most Royal Double-and-Twisted Golden Rod, when the court is going in to dinner, something so dreadful would happen that we don’t dare to think of it.  It is certain that the soup would get cold while the Golden Rod was pitching the Silver Stick out of the Castle window into the moat, and perhaps the island of Great Britain itself would split in two.  But the people are very careful that it never shall happen, so we shall probably never know what the effect would be.  Among cows, as I say, the question is settled in short order, and in a different manner from what it sometimes is in other society.  It is said that in other society there is sometimes a great scramble for the first place, for the leadership, as it is called, and that women, and men too, fight for what is called