CHAPTER V.
AFFECTION FOR ITS YOUNG.
The gentleman began:--
"The marked characteristic of the sheep is that of natural affection, ofwhich it possesses a great share. At the present time, there is inRegent's Park a poor sheep, with very bad foot rot. Crawling along thepasture on its knees, it with difficulty contrives to procure for itselfsubsistence; and the pain which it suffers when compelled to get on itsfeet is evidently very great. At a little distance from the sufferer wasanother sheep, which, after close observation, I found was always thesame. As I pursued my regular morning walk through the Park, I commonlysought out the friends, and, after two or three days, they seemed to beaware that no harm was intended them, and they suffered me to come nearenough to observe their signals, and fully to satisfy myself that it wasalways the same faithful adherent by whom the cripple was solaced andwatched.
"When a sheep becomes blind, it is rarely abandoned to itself in thishapless and helpless state. Some one of the flock attaches himself toit, and by bleating calls it back from the precipice, and the lake, andthe pool, and every kind of danger to which it is exposed."
"Isn't that good of them?" cried Minnie, eagerly. "I like those sheep."
"There was once a gentleman living in Inverness," Mr. Lee went on, "whowas passing through a lonely and unfrequented district, when he observeda sheep bleating most piteously, and hurrying along the road to meethim; on his approaching nearer, the animal redoubled its cries, andlooking earnestly in his face, seemed to implore some favor orassistance.
"Touched with a sight so unusual, he alighted, and leaving his gig, hefollowed the sheep in the direction whence it had come. There, in asolitary place, the ewe stopped, and the traveller found a lamb,completely wedged in between two large stones, almost exhausted, butstill continuing to struggle very feebly.
"The kind gentleman instantly extricated the little sufferer, and placedit safely on the neighboring greensward, while the delighted motherpoured out her thanks in a long-continued and grateful, if not amusical, strain.
"An interesting provision of nature with regard to these animals is,that the more inhospitable the land on which they feed, the greaterwill be their kindness and affection to their young.
"'I once herded,' says the Ettrick Shepherd, 'two years on a wild andbare farm, called Willenslee, on the border of Mid Lothian; and of allthe sheep I ever saw, these were the kindest and most affectionate totheir lambs. I was often deeply affected at scenes which I witnessed. Wehad one very hard winter, so that our sheep grew lean in the spring,and disease came among them, and carried off a number. Often have I seenthese poor victims, when fallen to rise no more, even when unable tolift their heads from the ground, holding up the leg to invite thestarving lamb to the miserable pittance that the udder still couldsupply. I had never seen aught more painfully affecting.
"'It is well known that it is a custom with shepherds, when a lamb dies,if the mother have a sufficiency of milk, to bring her from the hill,and put another lamb to her. This is done by putting the skin of thedead lamb upon the living one; the ewe immediately acknowledges therelationship, and after the skin has warmed on it, so as to give itsomething of the smell of her own lamb, and when it has suckled her twoor three times, she accepts it, and nourishes it as her own ever after.Whether it is from joy at this apparent reanimation of her young one, orbecause a little doubt remains in her mind, which she would fain dispel,I can not decide; but, for a number of days, she shows far morefondness, by bleating and caressing, over this one, than she formerlydid over the one that was really her own.
"'While at Willenslee, I never needed to drive home a sheep by force,with dogs, or in any other way than the following: I found every ewe, ofcourse, hanging her head over her dead lamb; and having a piece of twinewith me for the purpose, I tied that to the lamb's neck or foot, and,trailing it along, the ewe followed me into any house, or fold, orwherever I chose to lead her. Any of them would have followed me inthat way for miles, with her nose close on the lamb, which she neverquitted for a moment, except to chase my dog, which she would not sufferto walk near me.
"'Out of curiosity, I often led them in to the side of the kitchen fire,by this means into the midst of servants and dogs; but the more thatdangers multiplied around the ewe, the closer she clung to her deadoffspring, and thought of nothing whatever but protecting it. One ofthe two years while I remained on this farm, a severe blast of snow cameon by night, about the latter end of April, which destroyed severalscores of our lambs; and as we had not enough of twins and odd lambs forthe mothers that had lost theirs, of course we selected the best ewes,and put lambs to them. I found one fine ewe standing over a dead lambin the head of the Hope, and asked my master to put a lamb to her, buthe did not. I watched her, and faithfully did she stand to her charge;so faithfully, that I think the like was never equalled by any of thewoolly race. I visited her morning and evening, and for the first eightdays 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 kepttrampling with her feet, and whistling through her nose, to frightenaway the dog. He got a regular chase, twice a day, as I passed by.
"'The weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon decayed; butstill this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the poorremains, with an attachment that seemed to be nourished byhopelessness. It often drew tears from my eyes, to see her hanging withsuch fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of wool.
"'For the first fortnight, she never quitted the spot, and for anotherweek she visited it every morning and evening, uttering a few kindly andheart-piercing bleats each time, till at length every remnant of heroffspring vanished, mixing with the soil, or wafted away by the windsof heaven.'"
"There, Minnie, I think you have heard enough for to-night," said Mr.Lee, gayly, as he heard his little daughter sigh repeatedly.
"O, father, I can't help being so sorry for the poor sheep!"
"You had better read her something more cheerful, or she'll be thinkingof that all night," responded Mrs. Lee, laughing at the child'sdolorous tone.
"Yes, father, please read one more."
"Well, then, here is something that will please you."
"A drover, being on his way to Smithfield market with a flock of sheep,one of them became so sore-footed and lame that it could travel nofarther. The man, wishing to get on, took up the distressed animal, anddropped it over the paling of an enclosure belonging to Mr. O'Kelly, andwhere the celebrated race-horse Dungannon was then grazing, and pursuedhis journey, intending to call for the sheep on his return, believing,after a little rest, it would quickly recover. This was the case; but,in the mean time, a strong attachment grew up between the twoinhabitants of the paddock. The horse would playfully nibble the neckof the sheep, and, without hurting it, would lift it into the manger ofa neighboring shed belonging to the field, as much as to say, 'Thoughyou are not able to reach it, I will help you to the banquet.' Besidesthis, the horse would, on all occasions, protect his new friend, andwould suffer no one to interfere with him.
"When the drover returned, the two friends had become so attached, thatit seemed cruel to part them; and Mrs. O'Kelly, having learned thecircumstances, bought the sheep, and left the friends in peaceablepossession of the paddock and its adjoining shelter."