all said "How do you do?" to each other, Kit ran into the kitchen, and never thought of coming up to see Juno, or sleep on her mat again. But Juno after this was kind to Kit, and never drove her out of the room if she came in with cook to see me.

Once Kit had a dear little kitten, and

Juno took a fancy to it. It was such fun to see Juno with the pretty little thing in her mouth, and Kit walking after her with as much pride as a mother whose baby is in her nurse's arms. Then Juno would lay the kitten on her own mat, lick her, and leave her to her mother; but if I took Kitty up, she was cross and shook herself, as much as to say, "Kitty is my pet, do leave her to me." We never knew what was the cause, but Kitty fell ill and

died, and we could not tell whether her mother or Juno was the most sorry for her loss. The night after she died, Juno had Kit to sleep on her mat at my door, and she made much of her, as though trying to comfort her for the loss of her little one.

For many years Juno lived to be our faithful friend and companion, and you will be glad to know her end was without pain. One night, she, being very old, lay down on her mat as usual, and the next morning they told me Juno lay quite still, as if asleep. Then I knew she would never again come in to shake hands with me, and how could I help crying?

LILY'S LETTERS HOME.

WALTER and Lily Dobson had been born and brought up in London, and they knew nothing whatever of a country life. They had, it is true, gone every year to the sea-side for the sake of their health, but there, you know, they had no chance to see anything of the ways of birds or animals. So it was with great joy, one fine summer day, the children heard they were going to pay a visit to their aunt, Mrs. Leman, who lived at Burton, in Yorkshire. When Lily left home she gave her mother a promise to write as

long an account as she could every week of all she saw and did at Burton.

Lily, you must know, was but seven years old, so she could only write little letters, and as Walter was still younger, of course he could not do even so much.

The first letter Lily wrote was all about the journey, and how, though people said it was a fast train, she thought they never would get to Burton. Then she told her mother what a lovely place the old Hall was, and something about the park, and the boat on the lake, and the fine old trees, and of how kind dear Auntie Leman was to them both.

Lily's second letter was an account of the visits she and Walter paid to cottages and to farm-houses. "Dearest Mamma," said she, "we have seen nothing yet so

H

funny as the pigs. I had no idea they were such clever animals, because I heard Nurse say one day that ‘Toby was as stupid as a pig.' Mrs. Grant, you

know, is the wife of Auntie's coachman, and she lives in a cottage in the park. We went to see her on one of her washing days, and she said she would show us how she used up her soap-suds. Well, Walter and I both thought she would fetch a pipe and blow bubbles, but it was nothing so babyish, I can tell you. Mrs. Grant took a scrubbing-brush and a great pail of suds, and we followed her into the yard to the pig-stye. As soon as the old sow saw her coming she really danced. I wonder, dear Mamma, if you ever saw so lively a pig? Walter and I clapped our hands, for Auntie said