Church-lane with one of the young ladies of the vicarage, we met a
large flock of sheep, with the usual retinue of shepherds and dogs.
Lingering after them and almost out of sight, we encountered a
straggling ewe, now trotting along, now walking, and every now and
then stopping to look back, and bleating. A little behind her came
a lame lamb, bleating occasionally, as if in answer to its dam, and
doing its very best to keep up with her. It was a lameness of both
the fore-feet; the knees were bent, and it seemed to walk on the
very edge of the hoof--on tip-toe, if I may venture such an
expression. My young friend thought that the lameness proceeded
from original malformation, I am rather of opinion that it was
accidental, and that the poor creature was wretchedly foot-sore.
However that might be, the pain and difficulty with which it took
every step were not to be mistaken; and the distress and fondness of
the mother, her perplexity as the flock passed gradually out of
sight, the effort with which the poor lamb contrived to keep up a
sort of trot, and their mutual calls and lamentations were really so
affecting, that Ellen and I, although not at all lachrymose sort of
people, had much ado not to cry. We could not find a boy to carry
the lamb, which was too big for us to manage;--but I was quite sure
that the ewe would not desert it, and as the dark was coming on, we
both trusted that the shepherds on folding their flock would miss
them and return for them;--and so I am happy to say it proved.

Another turning of the dell gives a glimpse of the dark coppice by
which it is backed, and from which we are separated by some marshy,
rushy ground, where the springs have formed into a pool, and where
the moor-hen loves to build her nest. Ay, there is one scudding
away now;--I can hear her plash into the water, and the rustling of
her wings amongst the rushes. This is the deepest part of the wild