"Happy the man whose tranquil mind
Sees Nature in her changes kind,
And pleased the whole surveys;
For him the morn benignly smiles,
And evening shades reward the toils
That measure out his days.
The varying year may shift the scene,
The sounding tempest lash the main,
And heaven's own thunder roll;
Calmly he views the bursting storm,
Tempests nor thunders can deform
The quiet of his soul."—C. B.
Nor is the scenery from the Lakes the only thing to be admired in this delightful country. Lanes may be traversed sheltered by the oak, the ash, and the hazel, and only those who have seen the Cumberland hazels can form an idea of the beauty of their silvery bark and luxuriant growth. From these lanes there are occasional openings, through which a placid lake or a distant range of hills may be seen. And what picturesque and rugged hills they are! Huge, projecting rocks and verdant lawns, and deep channels of rugged stone, over which a foaming torrent forces its way in the rainy season, and is succeeded in dry weather by a sparkling rivulet, which trickles down to swell a little brooklet at the foot of the hill, as it winds its way to the neighbouring lake. These may be seen, and the patches of heather, and the patient colley watching for a signal to collect the scattered flock, dotted, as it appears to be, over the almost inaccessible heights. At some distance it is difficult to see the sheep, at least by a stranger, partly on account of the dark colour of their fleeces (for they have not the whiteness of our flocks in the midland downs), and partly from the shadow on the hills. Separated as they are from each other, as the evening closes in the sagacious dog receives a hint from his master, and the sheep are quickly collected from places to which the shepherd could with difficulty make his way. Snow and frost are no check to the labours of the colley dog. His exertions are indefatigable, and the only reward he appears to expect is the approbation of his master.
The following amusing anecdote of a sort of sheep-dog was communicated to me by its owner. The dog's name was Hero. His habits were odd enough, and he gave many instances of his sagacity. The following was one of them:—
Hero was in the constant habit of accompanying the farm-horses in their daily labour, pacing the ploughed field regularly aside the team, and returning with them to and from his meals, always taking care to scamper home at a certain hour for a more dainty portion when his mistress dined.
During one of these hasty visits he met a young woman, whom he had never seen before, wearing his mistress's cloak. After looking at her with a scrutinising eye, he turned round, and followed her closely, to her great dismay, to a neighbouring village four miles off, where the brother of his mistress lived, and into whose house the woman entered. Probably concluding from this circumstance that she was a privileged person, he returned quietly back again. Had she passed the house, the dog would most probably have seized the cloak, in order to restore it to his mistress.
I trust my readers will begin to feel some interest in this sagacious and useful animal, and I will add one or two more well-authenticated anecdotes of him.
Captain Brown says that his friend, Mr. Peter Macarthur, related to him the following anecdote of a shepherd's dog, which belonged to his grandfather, who at that time resided in the Island of Mull:—Upon one occasion a cow had been missed for some days, and no trace of it could be found; and a shepherd's dog, called Drummer, was also absent. On the second or third day the dog returned, and taking Mr. Macarthur's father by the coat, pulled him towards the door, but he did not follow it; he then went to his grandfather, and pulled him in the same way by the coat, but without being attended to; he next went to one of the men-servants, and tugged him also by the coat. Conceiving at last there was something particular which the dog wanted, they agreed to follow him: this seemed to give him great pleasure, and he ran barking and frisking before them, till he led them to a cow-shed, in the middle of a field. There they found the cow fixed by the horns to a beam, from which they immediately extricated her and conducted her home, much exhausted for want of food. It is obvious, that but for the sagacity of this faithful animal she certainly would have died.
Mr. John Cobb, farmer at Tillybirnie, parish of Lethnot, near Brechin, during a severe snow-storm in the year 1798, had gone with his dog, called Cæsar, to a spot on the small stream of Paphry (a tributary of the North Esk), where his sheep on such occasions used to take shelter beneath some lofty and precipitous rocks called Ugly Face, which overhung the stream. While employed in driving them out, an immense avalanche fell from these rocks, and completely buried him and his dog. He found all his endeavours to extricate himself from this fearful situation in vain; and at last, worn out, fell asleep. However, his dog had contrived to work his way out, and returned home next day about noon. The dog, by whining and looking in the faces of the family, and afterwards running to the door, showed that he wished them to follow him; they accordingly did so, accompanied by a number of men provided with spades. He led them to the spot where his master was, and, after scraping away the snow which had fallen from the time he had quitted the spot, he quickly disappeared in the hole by which he had effected his escape. They began to dig, and by nightfall they found Mr. Cobb quite benumbed, standing in an upright posture; but as life was not quite extinguished he was rolled in warm blankets, and soon recovered. As may well be conceived, he felt the greatest regard for his preserver, and treated him ever afterwards with much tenderness. The colley lived to a great age, and when he died, his master said it gave him as much pain as the death of a child; and he would have buried him in a coffin, had he not thought that his neighbours would turn it into ridicule.
A gentleman of my acquaintance had a sheep-dog, which was generally kept in a yard by the side of his house in the country. One day a beggar made his way into the yard armed with a stout stick, with which he defended himself from the attacks of the dog, who barked at and attempted to bite him. On the appearance of a servant the dog ceased barking, and watching his opportunity, he got behind the beggar, snatched the stick from his hand, and carried it into the road, where he left it.