There is nothing to prevent our sheep from being as manageable as any others.  I once had a lamb given to me, because its mother could not nurse it; and I kept it in some nice hay in a large basket, and fed it with warm milk from the spout of a teapot.  As it gained strength, I let it run about the house, and it was a droll sight to see the big lamb come bouncing and scampering into a room full of company, hunting the cat about, leaping over chairs, and playing just like a frolicsome kitten.  If I walked out, it would, like the eastern sheep, follow me.  I have taken it for miles along the public road, and never saw it appear frightened.  It was stolen and killed before it became quite a sheep; but I have no doubt it would have continued as tame, and as bold, and as happy.  If you look into the faces of a flock of sheep, you will see a great variety of countenances among them, and some are very intelligent.  There is a field near me, where I often go to walk; and a number of young sheep in it have taken such a fancy to Bronti, that when he stands still they will come almost close to him, the ram foremost, as if wishing to play with him; but if he goes towards them, off they trot, poor things, to the other end of the field.

Not long ago, I saw something that made me quite unhappy; and indeed it was one reason for my writing this little book.  A boy was driving a few sheep, and he got them into a corner, on some very high ground, from which they could not possibly get away without jumping down where they must have broken their necks, or limbs.  Then this bad boy called another, and they both took up large stones that were lying about the road, and threw them at the innocent sheep—­or rather lambs, for they were not full grown.  I saw them hit on their heads and eyes, and nearly mad with pain and terror.  I never saw a more cruel thing:  I thought Bronti would have seized the boys, he was so angry.  I could not help thinking how awful would be the state of those boys, if they were cut off by death in such wickedness.  Alas! the agonies of one hour hereafter, would be worse than all the tortures that could be inflicted on God’s creatures during their whole lives.  But instead of an hour, it is for ever and ever that all who go to that dreadful place of punishment must remain.  It made me very miserable to see the poor lambs so cruelly hurt, and to think what judgment those boys were bringing on themselves.  I ran for Bronti’s master, and we met the bruised, bleeding little innocents limping along, and the inhuman boy, tired of his savage sport, following them.  We stopped him, and that gentleman spoke very plainly to him of his sin, and God’s anger.  The boy looked alarmed, but sulky; and I sadly fear he was hardening his young heart against the Lord.  Let us pray that we may be kept from hardness of heart, and made tender to keep a conscience void of offence towards God and towards man.