ing or good morning to him, he might possibly forget the Latin and Greek, the grave sermons and discussions, and know rather more quickly that you were speaking to him. Yes, indeed; that he would. One more funny thing; though a picture perhaps would be more laughable to you than the description, and the real sight better than either. Passing the kitchen-window yesterday morning, I chanced to see our pets the chickens large chickens now timidly venturing forth to breathe the air, and seek some breakfast. The keen, north wind did not seem to approve it; for it flourished around their wings and tails, and tried hard to knock them down; then to tip them over, by rushing sideways against their long tail-feathers; then to take them off their legs, by ruffling, and lifting up, and getting under all their body-feathers and wing-feathers; then to blow them back into the wood-shed, by furiously pursuing and dashing against them from behind. It was so comical that I sat down and laughed, and uncle Herbert joined me. Old Mater scolded and bewailed the matter wofully. She would cower into the wood-shed, and, looking out, open her great mouth, and clamor as though she thought to frighten burly Boreas into better behavior.

*

*Boreas, the north wind.

Annie and Mary kept pretty close together like loving little twins, and bore the blowing rather bravely; but Boreas grew no more gentle and polite for that. Donna has lost a good deal of her stately pride, and grown quite tame and demure. She was funniest of all, — swept about like a little, fragile, old lady, caught accidentally out in a storm, and hastening anxiously home; her black cloak, cape, and veil, blowing all over her shoulders and head, and quite mystifying her progress. Wentwood- will you believe it? was the greatest coward of all, hiding in the corner of the shed, and only venturing out when all the hens had left him. But I hear the sleigh-bells jingling at the door; and here is uncle Herbert, with Bella and Lizzie, fresh from their ride, and full of adventures. So, good-night to you, dear children. We have had quite a long evening together. When will you be here indeed for a long visit, I wonder? When summer comes, with birds and flowers, kind, smiling summer,-who knows? perchance she may bring our two darlings likewise to receive a joyful welcome from uncle Herbert and aunt Amy.

F. E. H.

THE DROWNING CHICKEN.

My last letter to my dear little nieces was written to please the little "fun-lover." This shall be more especially for Annie, as I shall tell you of rather a sad event which happened in our poultry family the other day. You must know that we have one staid, grave, young hen, named Jane, who is the mother of five plump and almost grown-up chickens; one of them, however, an adopted child, who belongs to the family of notails, but a very comely biddy for all that. The other morning, as Lizzie approached the well rather hastily, she saw this same little No-tail (who had been standing upon the top of the well) start, flutter, and fall suddenly down into the water. She said not a word to us, but ran to the nearest neighbor for assistance. The first uncle Herbert, Bella, or I knew of the accident, was a tap at the kitchen-door, and the appearance of an old man, a quiet, friendly neighbor, with an instrument called "creepers" in his hand. "Good morning," said Bella: "walk in and sit

down, sir." His only reply, after the "good morning," was, "I came over to see about that chicken down in the well." With that, out went Bella to see what had befallen; and, sure enough, there was poor little No-tail swimming about down in the cold depth, too much chilled or frightened to stay upon the bucket where she had at first perched. After some moments of unsuccessful work with the neighbor and his "creepers," I heard Lizzie exclaim, "There! quick, quick! I have got her!" Looking out of the window, I saw them pull up the bucket with all haste, snatch the poor little drenched thing from the benumbing cold water, and carry her round to the kitchen. To the kitchen we all repaired; and then, dear children, such a bustle! Woollen cloths were brought out and heated, and wrapped around the little drowned chick (for she seemed to be hopelessly drowned); hot milk and water, burning with pepper, was put into her throat with a teaspoon. Alcohol was warmed in a small, tin dipper, and rubbed over her body; then she was shaken and rubbed, bathed, breathed upon, toasted, bundled up in the hot cloths, and then unwrapped to be shaken and toasted again. Then she was hugged up in an old blanket-shawl, and then fed with the peppered milk; Bella and I exclaiming all the

while, "You will strangle and choke her! You will rub all her feathers off! Oh, she will be roasted! She will be suffocated! You will take her skin off! You will shake all the breath out of her!" Lizzie invariably replying, "You know nothing about it; you never brought a drowning person to life." Nor did she until now; for, indeed, we began to perceive a slight twitching, and then a faint gasp, and occasionally her eyes would partly open. With that, Lizzie exclaimed, "I will put her feet into hot water!" and when chicky began to twitch so much more with her feet in the bright tin basin, we exclaimed, "You will scald her feet off!” However, she really soon began to seem alive, to breathe faintly, to open her eyes, and stretch her feet a little. Then she received a new rubbing, and a new toasting, more peppered milk, &c. until at length she was given me to hug in the old shawl, while Lizzie went to prepare a basket for her reception. "I am glad she has a moment to rest," said Bella. The basket was partly filled with soft hay, whereon chicky was placed; and then all the hot woollens were wrapped over her, and basket and all placed She seemed very comforta

upon the hearth.

ble indeed in this position, opening her bright,

round eyes when any one went to peep, but