had lost theirs, of course we selected the best ewes, and put lambs to them.  As we were making the distribution, I requested of my master to spare me a lamb for a hawked ewe which he knew, and which was standing over a dead lamb in the head of the Hope, about four miles from the house.  He would not do it, but bid me let her stand over her lamb for a day or two, and perhaps a twin would be forthcoming.  I did so, and faithfully she did stand to her charge; so faithfully, that I think the like never was equalled by any of the woolly race.  I visited her every morning and evening, and for the first eight days never found her above two or three yards from the lamb; and always, as I went my rounds, she eyed me long ere I came near her, and kept tramping with her feet, and whistling through her nose, to frighten away the dog; he got a regular chase twice a day as I passed by:  but, however excited and fierce a ewe may be, she never offers any resistance to mankind, being perfectly and meekly passive to them.  The weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon decayed, which the body of a dead lamb does particularly soon:  but still this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the poor remains with an attachment that seemed to be nourished by hopelessness.  It often drew the tears from my eyes to see her hanging with such fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of wool.  For the first fortnight she never quitted the spot, and for another week she visited it every morning and evening, uttering a few kindly and heart-piercing bleats each time; till at length every remnant of her offspring vanished, mixing with the soil, or wafted away by the winds.”

“Poor creature!  Uncle Thomas, that was very affecting.”

“So much for the Ettrick Shepherd.  I will now tell you a story about a remarkable instance of sagacity in a sheep, of which I myself was an eye-witness.

“One evening, as I was enjoying a walk through some verdant pastures, which were plentifully dotted with sheep, my attention was attracted by the motions of one which repeatedly came close up to me, bleating in a piteous manner, and after looking expressively in my face, ran off towards a brook which meandered through the midst of the pastures.  At first I took little notice of the creature, but as her entreaties became importunate, I followed her.  Delighted at having at length attracted my notice, she ran with all her speed, frequently looking back.  When I reached the spot, I discovered the cause of all her anxiety; her lamb had unfortunately fallen into the brook, whose steep banks prevented it from making its escape.  Fortunately the water, though up to the little creature’s back, was not sufficient to drown it.  I rescued it with much pleasure, and to the great gratification of its affectionate mother, who licked it with her tongue to dry it, now and then skipping about, and giving vent to her joy and gratitude in most expressive gambols.