character of wildness and variety. Now we seem hemmed in by those
green cliffs, shut out from all the world, with nothing visible but
those verdant mounds and the deep blue sky; now by some sudden turn
we get a peep at an adjoining meadow, where the sheep are lying,
dappling its sloping surface like the small clouds on the summer
heaven. Poor harmless, quiet creatures, how still they are! Some
socially lying side by side; some grouped in threes and fours; some
quite apart. Ah! there are lambs amongst them--pretty, pretty
lambs--nestled in by their mothers. Soft, quiet, sleepy things!
Not all so quiet, though! There is a party of these young lambs as
wide awake as heart can desire; half a dozen of them playing
together, frisking, dancing, leaping, butting, and crying in the
young voice, which is so pretty a diminutive of the full-grown
bleat. How beautiful they are with their innocent spotted faces,
their mottled feet, their long curly tails, and their light flexible
forms, frolicking like so many kittens, but with a gentleness, an
assurance of sweetness and innocence, which no kitten, nothing that
ever is to be a cat, can have. How complete and perfect is their
enjoyment of existence! Ah! little rogues! your play has been too
noisy; you have awakened your mammas; and two or three of the old
ewes are getting up; and one of them marching gravely to the troop
of lambs has selected her own, given her a gentle butt, and trotted
off; the poor rebuked lamb following meekly, but every now and then
stopping and casting a longing look at its playmates; who, after a
moment's awed pause, had resumed their gambols; whilst the stately
dame every now and then looked back in her turn, to see that her
little one was following. At last she lay down, and the lamb by her
side. I never saw so pretty a pastoral scene in my life.*

*I have seen one which affected me much more. Walking in the