ng it. One of
the two years while I remained on this farm, a severe blast of snow came
on by night, about the latter end of April, which destroyed several
scores of our lambs; and as we had not enough of twins and odd lambs for
the 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 lamb
in the head of the Hope, and asked my master to put a lamb to her, but
he 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 the
woolly race. I visited her 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
trampling 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.

"'The weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon decayed; 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 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
of 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 thinking
of that all night," responded Mrs. Lee, laughing at the child's
dolorous 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 no
farther. The man, wishing to get on, took up the distressed animal, and
dropped it over the paling of an enclosure belonging to Mr. O'Kelly, and
where the celebrated race-horse Dungannon was then grazing, and pursued
his journey, intending to call for the sheep on his return, believing,
after a little re