tterthwaite, grandfather of Thomas Rogerson, Esq., of
Liverpool and Ballamillaghyn, Isle of Man, who died some years ago at
Coulthouse, near Hawkshead, soon after his marriage, resided near the
Low Wood Inn, on the borders of Windermere Lake. He left home early
one morning, accompanied by his shepherd's dog, to look after some
sheep on the mountains near Rydal, about four miles distant; and
discovering two at the bottom of a precipice between two rocks he
descended, with the view of extricating them; but when he got to the
bottom, he could neither assist them nor get up himself, and there he
was confined until midnight. The faithful dog remained at the top of
the precipice watching his master; but at nightfall he proceeded home,
scratched the door, and was let in by his mistress, who expressed her
surprise at the barking of the dog and non-arrival of her husband. She
had no sooner sat down than the dog ran barking towards her, and then
went to the door: but as she did not follow, the dog ran to her again,
seized her apron, and endeavoured to pull her to the door; which
circumstance caused her to suppose some accident had befallen her
husband. She immediately called up the servant-man, and told him she
was sure, from the strange conduct of the dog, that something must
have happened to his master. She told the man to take a lantern and
some ropes, and follow the dog, taking care to get assistance at
Ambleside; which he did. No sooner had the man opened the door than
the dog bounded out, leaped up at him, barked, and then ran forward,
but quickly returned, leaped up again, barked, and then ran forward,
as if to hasten the man's speed. The faithful dog led the man and his
companions to the prison of his master. The ropes were instantly
lowered, and Mr. Satterthwaite was providentially released from his
perilous situation. The sheep also were recovered.

How well do I recollect the Ettrick Shepherd descanting on the
sagacity and perseverance of his favourite sheep-dog! His name was
Sirrah, and he told me the following extraordinary anecdote of him,
which I give in his own words:--

"About seven hundred lambs, which were once under my care at weaning
time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions
across the hills, in spite of all that I and an assistant lad could do
to keep them together. 'Sirrah, my man!' said I in great affliction,
'they are awa'.' The night was so dark that I could not see Sirrah,
but t