day is a sort of second noon for heat; and
now that we were up on this breezy
height, it seemed so disagreeable to think
of going once more into the close woods
down below, and to brave the parched and
dusty road, that we gladly and lazily
resigned ourselves to stay a little later, and
to make our jolly three o'clock tea serve for
dinner.

So I strolled into the busy yard once more,
and by watching my opportunity, I crossed
between men, women, boys, sheep, and barking
dogs, and got to an old man, sitting under
the sycamore, who had been pointed out to
me as the owner of the sheep and the farm.
For a few minutes he went on, doggedly
puffing away; but I knew that this reserve
on his part arose from no want of friendliness,
but from the shy reserve which is the
characteristic of most Westmoreland and
Cumberland people. By and bye he began
to talk, and he gave me much information
about his sheep. He took a " walk " from a
landowner with so many sheep upon it; in
his case one thousand and fifty, which was a
large number, about six hundred being the
average. Before taking the " walk," he and
his landlord each appointed two " knowledgeable
people " to value the stock. The " walk"
was taken on lease of five or seven years, and
extended ten miles over the Fells in one
direction—he could not exactly say how far
in another, but more; yes! certainly more.
At the expiration of the lease, the stock are
again numbered, and valued in the same way.
If the sheep are poorer, and gone off, the
tenant has to pay for their depreciation in
money; if they have improved in quality,
the landlord pays him; but one way or
another the same number must be restored,
while the increase of each year, and the
annual fleeces form the tenant's profit.
Of course they were all of the black-
faced or mountain breed, fit for scrambling
and endurance, and capable of being nourished
by the sweet but scanty grass that grew on
the Fells. To take charge of his flock he
employed three shepherds, one of whom was
my friend Tom. They had other work down
on the farm, for the farm was " down"
compared with the airy heights to which these
sheep will scramble. The shepherd's year
begins before the twentieth of March, by
which time the ewes must be all safely down
in the home pastures, at hand in case they
or their lambs require extra care at yeaning
time. About the sixteenth of June the sheep-
washing begins. Formerly, said my old man,
men stood bare-legged in a running stream,
dammed up so as to make a pool, which was
more cleansing than any still water, with its
continual foarn, and fret, and struggle to
overcome the obstacle that impeded its
progress: and these men caught the sheep,
which were hurled to them by the people on
the banks, and rubbed it and soused it well;
but now (alas! for these degenerate days)
folk were content to throw them in head
downwards, and thought that they were
washed enough with swimming to the bank.
However, this proceeding was managed in a
fortnight after the shearing or clipping came
on; and people were bidden to it from twenty
miles off or better; but not as they had been
fifty years ago. Still, if a family possessed a
skilful shearer in the person of a son, or if
the good wife could fold fleeces well and
deftly, they were sure of a gay week in
clippmg time, passing from farm to farm in
merry succession, giving their aid, feasting
on the fat of the land (" sweet butter"
amongst other things, and much good may it
do them!) until they in their turn called
upon their neighbours for help. In short,
good old-fashioned sheep-shearings are carried
on much in the same sort of way as an
American Bee.

As soon as the clipping is over, the
sheep are turned out upon the Fells, where
their greatest enemy is the fly. The ravens
do harm to the young lambs in May and
June, and the shepherds scale the steep grey
rocks to take a raven's nest with infinite
zest and delight; but no shepherd can
save his sheep from the terrible fly— the
common flesh fly—which burrows in the poor
animal, and lays its obscene eggs, and the
maggots eat it up alive. To obviate this as
much as ever they can, the shepherds go up
on the Fells about twice a week in summer
time, and, sending out their faithful dogs,
collect the sheep into great circles, the dogs
running on the outside and keeping them
in. The quick-eyed shepherd stands in the
midst, and, if a sheep make an effort to scratch
herself, the dog is summoned, and the infected
sheep brought up to be examined, the piece
cut out, and salved. But, notwithstanding this,
in some summers scores of sheep are killed
in this way: thundery and close weather is
peculiarly productive of this plague. The next
operation which the shepherd has to attend to
is about the middle or end of October, when
the sheep are brought down to be salved,
and an extra man is usually hired on the
farm for this week. But it is no feasting or
merry-making time like a clipping. Sober
business reigns. The men sit astride on their
benches and besmear the poor helpless beast
with a mixture of tar and bad butter, or
coarse grease, which is supposed to promote
the growth and fineness of the wool, by
preventing skin diseases of all kinds, such as
would leave a patch bare. The mark of
ownership is renewed with additional tar and
raddle, and they are sent up once more to
their breezy walk, where the winter winds
begin to pipe and to blow, and to call away
their brethren from the icy North. Once a
week the shepherds go up and scour the
Fells, looking over the sheep, and seeing how
the herbage lasts. And this is the dangerous
and wild time for the shepherds. The snows
and the mists (more to be dreaded even than