hich were very large; he then lifted her gently from the
ground by raising his head. If she chanced to leave her flock feeding, as
soon as they discovered she was gone, they all began to bleat most
piteously, and would continue to do so till she returned; they would then
testify their joy by rubbing their sides against her petticoat and
frisking about.

"Feckless Fannie was not, like most other demented creatures, fond of
fine dress; on her head she wore an old slouched hat, over her shoulders
an old plaid, and carried always in her hand a shepherd's crook; with any
of these articles she invariably declared she would not part for any
consideration whatever. When she was interrogated why she set so much
value on things seemingly so insignificant, she would sometimes relate
the history of her misfortune, which was briefly as follows:--

"'I am the only daughter of a wealthy squire in the north of England, but
I loved my father's shepherd, and that has been my ruin; for my father,
fearing his family would be disgraced by such an alliance, in a passion
mortally wounded my lover with a shot from a pistol. I arrived just in
time to receive the last blessing of the dying man, and to close his eyes
in death. He bequeathed me his little all, but I only accepted these
sheep, to be my sole companions through life, and this hat, this plaid,
and this crook, all of which I will carry until I descend into the
grave.'

"This is the substance of a ballad, eighty-four lines of which I copied
down lately from the recitation of an old woman in this place, who says
she has seen it in print, with a plate on the title-page, representing
Fannie with her sheep behind her. As this ballad is said to have been
written by Lowe, the author of _Mary's Dream,_ I am surprised that it has
not been noticed by Cromek in his _Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway
Song;_ but he perhaps thought it unworthy of a place in his collection,
as there is very little merit in the composition; which want of room
prevents me from transcribing at present. But if I thought you had never
seen it, I would take an early opportunity of doing so.

"After having made the tour of Galloway in 1769, as Fannie was wandering
in the neighbourhood of Moffat, on her way to Edinburgh, where, I am
informed, she was likewise well known, Old Charlie, her favourite ram,
chanced to break into a kale-yard, which the proprietor observing, let
loose a mastiff, that hunted the poor sheep to dea