“ In vain the bountiful milk-giver taxed her powers to fill the old hag's strange milk-pail; the effort was too much the fountain that had never failed before at last became dry; and either through the exhaustion of nature, or from vexation and disappointment at being outwitted by an old woman, the old cow gave up the ghost, and those dreary moors ceased for ever to be "a land flowing with milk." The rib hangs over the door, a sad memento of the Old Dun Cow, and by its size challenges the attention of the passer-by—a sort of "Ex pede Herculem." ”