THE DAILY LIFE OF OUR FAKM. 221 



old Eton Latin Grammar duly cautions us. In his 

 anxiety to force on the young fry, my shepherd (usually 

 most cautious) went and penned the lot upon some 

 sprouted turnips, straight from grass, without having 

 subjected them to a novitiate. 



We have been so lucky with the sheep that it was 

 quite vexatious to hear of the death of a ewe, " found on 

 her back." He might as well have given the regular 

 old senseless answer "had a pain." Riding by that part 

 of the farm I saw the reason at once. Why he did such 

 an imprudent thing I don't know — wool-gathering I can 

 only conclude. 



Referring to wool, I wish it would run up. We have 

 managed to get saddled from one cause or another with 

 three years' clip, beautiful lustrous fleeces too. Few 

 things delight me so much as to contemplate the clothing 

 of a pet ewe that one has reared through so many gene- 

 rations. "In the days when we were curly" will be 

 remembered as an expression of the ex-Premier's 

 (meaning " the days when we were young, a long time 

 ago "), which his own collection of glossy spirals pro- 

 bably put into his head. I never fail to recall it when 

 I inspect my flock. It was a shrewd remark of an agri- 

 cultural writer lately, that the long-wooled sheep suffer 

 more from rain than the short- woolly sort, whose fleeces 

 might be described as of an African type. I notice quite 

 a broad band down the backs of the former kind, as 

 carefully divided as any dandy's locks, and where the 

 pitiless storm can pelt in with disastrous effect. 



But on second thought may not this strip of skin 

 become inured to the action of the elements as the peri- 

 cranium of the Christ's Hospital youngster does ? This 

 brings me to another puzzle. How is it that birds 



