housewife, whose portrait stands painted at the head of our chapter! What he has done is unequalled; what he could have done can never be known. How flat, dead, and colourless, will appear any painting of our own, after the few masterly touches Shakspere has thrown upon the canvas, and still left unfinished the great picture!

All who have wandered into the country, about the beginning of summer, must have heard the unusual bleating amongst sheep, in the neigbourhood of rivers, or beside water-courses; and if they have never beheld such a scene before, must, when they have reached the spot, have looked both with interest and pleasure, at a sheep washing. There stand three powerful sun-burnt fellows, up to the middle in water; a sheep is forced in by a man on the bank; it is seized by the first washer, who, laying fast hold of the fleece, souses the poor creature about as if he would shake it to pieces; he then looses his hold, and the bleating animal, as he begins swimming towards the shore, is seized by the second washer, in whose hands he fares no better than he did whilst an unwilling prisoner to the first. He bleats more pitifully; and just as he is within a few feet of the shore, souse he goes over and over for the third timeand then he is at liberty. He reaches the bank, and there stands bleating, while the water flows from his heavy fleece. Others, who have undergone the same fate, bleat in reply; while the unwashed ones are not a bit behind hand in their complainings, for a hundred sheep "baa" like one.

Then what a roar of laughter comes ringing upon the air at the sturdy shepherd boy, who, while thrusting and forcing along some obstinate sheep to the edge of the water, is carried in headlong with his woolly companion; and, by an unexpected plunge, both are sent head over ears together, and land

alike with a kindred and sheepish look, for Jock is passed from hand to hand, amid loud "guffaws," which are heard half-a-mile off. Sometimes the village girls will come down to the sheep-washing, and then there flies round many a rough random shot of country wit: the girls trace strange likenesses amongst the sheep to some envied rival; and, in allusion to the number of lambs, more is meant than meets the ear"-the frailties of some fair Phyllis are shadowed forth, while Damon, although midway in water, burns up to his very ears. You find that Dianas are not the only nymphs who haunt the neighbourhood of these pastoral Arcadias.

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We have seen pictures, in which sheep-washing and sheep-shearing (or clipping, as the farmers call it) are represented together; as if it was only out of the water, and then under the shears. The following is the criticism of an old practical farmer, one who still keeps up the old customs-has his sheep-shearing feast and harvest-home : breakfasts at six, lunches at ten, dines at one, takes tea at four, sups at seven, and is very rarely out of bed after nine, and in winter generally retires at eight; is nearly ninety years of age, and never in his life was laid up with a day's illness; his hair is as white as lamb's wool, his cheeks red as a rose; his grandfather lived until his hundred and fourth year, and his father had turned ninety-nine when he died. He says, "The picture you sent me is very good, but very wrong; sheep are never clipped as soon as they are washed it is very different to shaving a man. If the

sheep are dry in three or four days, they clip hard and husky,' and far from easy; but if they stay ten or twelve days after the washing, the oil returns into the fleece, and then the shears move quite free. Four or five fleeces yield

a tod of wool, which is worth about a shilling a pound." The old farmer is no bad representative of the “weatherbitten" shepherd in the "Winter's Tale."

We know not how many hundreds of sheep the old man has had shorn in a summer; but we well remember having seen a dozen of clippers at work for him at one time, and a right merry scene it was. Off went the ponderous barndoor-a door through which a piled-up waggon of corn could enter without ruffling a sheaf. This was taken off the hinges, and several large logs of wood placed under it; and here the sheep-shearers began their work, not fearing a want of " elbow-room." And now was heard challenge upon challenge, and bet upon bet-five or six "clipping like one;" and the wager, perhaps, half-a-gallon of ale, won by him who had clipped his sheep in the shortest time. Sometimes the last snip of the shears was heard so close together, that it was difficult to tell which had done first; then the race commenced again. Pile upon pile the fleeces rose, forming a little mountain of wool, which almost made one long for a cold bleak winter night, that we might throw ourselves into it, and nestle there until the dawn. Then the old wool-merchant would call as he went his round through the country: handle the fleeces, to see how the sheep had turned out; and, if he was in the "giving mood," perhaps leave the men a crown to drink."

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After the sheep were shorn and turned loose, a scene of confusion ensued-such a running to and fro-five or six lambs laying claim to one dam—and she, poor thing! bleating and smelling, and repelling the invaders, while her own lambs, still "doting and doubting," went round and round her, until they at length showed signs of satisfaction

in the motion of their tails. Then they would bound off, and return again, happy as children who had found a lost mother.

Sheep-shearing feasts are of great antiquity: they are mentioned in the early books of the Bible, especially in that fine dramatic chapter which describes the loves of the ill-starred Ammon and the "fair Tamar"-he whom his brothers slew, when "his heart was merry with wine." Who is there that does not regret that we have no minute description of these ancient festivities; of what they ate, and drank, and the merry songs they sung? Perchance either David or Solomon had strung together a few sweet verses, which the daughters of Canaan chanted at these pastoral feasts; and some lovely maiden would blush when "her teeth were compared to a flock of sheep coming up from the washing.”* That there was no lack of plenty at these ancient festivals, is proved from what Abigail took from the sheep-shearing feast to present unto David: which was 'two hundred loaves, and two bottles of wine, and five sheep ready dressed, and five measures of parched corn, and an hundred clusters of raisins, and two hundred cakes of figs." These she took unknown to her churlish husband Nabal, who refused to relieve the wants of David, although he sent at a good time," when Nabal "feasted like a king." The churl died, and David married his noble-hearted widow.

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Beautiful must these scenes have appeared, as seen through the openings of the tents, or under the shadow of some wide-spreading tree; the flocks and herds grazing in the distance, and such figures as Saul or David, or the

*Solomon's Song, vi. 6.

1 Samuel, xxv. 18.

beautiful Bathsheba, standing in the foreground of the picture. But the long night of ages has closed over the scenes; the very spots on which they were celebrated can no longer be pointed out and it is only the great eye of poetry, which gazes with unshaken faith, that sees, or cares to see, the fine painting in these primitive pictures.

Now comes the sheep-shearing feast of modern times. The great copper is filled with furmity, made of boiled wheat, which, when cold, cuts like jelly; currants, raisins, spices of every kind; sugar shot in, in pounds, which, when boiled enough, is emptied out into basins and pans, and cooled with new milk. Round this delicious mess assemble the young; three or four, with their huge wooden spoons, eating out of one pansion, or large earthernware vessel, about two feet wide. Sometimes they quarrel like pigs around a trough-one has thrown a spoonful of furmity into the other's face; others have left off, and gone into the orchard to swing; the great kitchen is a very Babel of sounds. Sometimes the feast is in the barn; the immense door is turned into a table, and almost bends beneath its load of provisions. We talk of roast beef: taste what is set before them! Smell of that chine! what a nosegay; it is stuffed with all kinds of savoury herbs: it tastes like duck, goose, pork, veal; as if all good things were rolled into it, and made one. It would make a sick man well only to smell of it. What slices! what appetites! what horns of brown ale they empty! A waiter in a London eating-house would run away horror-stricken, and proclaim a coming famine throughout the land. They eat their peas by spoonfuls; a new potatoe vanishes at every mouthful; dishes are full and emptied ere you can turn your head. That was a whole ham ten minutes ago; now you behold only the