Adopting an Abandoned Farm

ere regretted, but life i

which a man poss

er this, I would dart out of a back door

had, singular to relate, no horse to dispose of, but he "would like fourteen dollars for my dog tax for the current year!" As he was also sheriff, constable, and justice of the peace, I did not think it worth while to argue the question, although I ha

I agree with Ik Marvel that a cat is like a politician, sly and diplomatic; purring-for food; and affectionate-for a consideration; really caring nothing for friendship and dev

ic. But when my dogs come bounding to meet me for a jolly morning greeting they do seem expectant and hungry rather than affectionate. At

ar companion of one's youth, observes that "the comparative shortness of the lives of dogs is the only imperfection in the relation between them and us. If they had lived to three-score and ten, man and do

wife's special delight, for whom she used to write cute little notes to the master. And when he met with a fatal accident, he was tenderly nursed by both for months, and when the doctor was at last obliged to put him out of pain by prus

, that the want of him would have been to me other than a riddance. Our last midnight walk together (for he insisted on trying to come), Jan

e was not reason, mirthfulness, love, honor, and fidelity in a dog, he did not know where to look for it. Oh, if they only could speak, what wise and humorous and sarcastic things they would say! Did you never feel snubbed by an immense dog y

o, "his dear, dumb friend," in which he e

your great

and loyal h

here the dif

our soul

as a poet, but he never excelled in verse unless he had something to express that was very near his

o, did I

as you wo

where my M

our hu

fondly a

r Blanco, s

im with a l

would gr

, a fine Newfoundland, stood on the piazza with the questioning, patronizing air of a dignified host; a bright-faced Scotch terrier, Charles Dickens, peered

ly hearted old poet, so full of tenderness for all created things, told me that years when nuts were scarce he woul

o what a degree of imbecility an old maid may carry

f his neck, between his chin and his breast-and a white mark on his bosom. His face was singularly beautiful; the finest black eyes, very bright, and yet sweet, and fond, and tender-eyes that seemed to speak; a beautiful, complacent mouth, which used sometimes to show one of the long white teeth at the side; a jet black nose; a brow which was bent and flexible, like Mr. Fox's, and gave great sweetness and expression, and a look of thought to his dear face. There never was such a dog! His temper was, beyond comparison, the sweetest ever known. Nobody ever saw him out of humor. And his sagacity was equal to his temper. Thank God, he went off without suffering. He must have di

everything I had he shared. He always ate half my breakfast, and the very day before he died I fed him

was close by and would put his dear black nose under my hand on hearing his name. God bless you, my Mossy! I cried when you died, and I can hardly help crying whenever I think of you. All who loved me loved Mossy. He had the most perfect confidence in me-always came to me for protection against any one who thr

Many other things I have omitted; and so I should if I were to write a whole volume of his praise; for he was above all praise, sweet angel! I have inclosed some of his hair

res are solitary, and therefore doub

as happy a life as cat could wish for-if cats form wishes on that subject. There should be a court mourning in Cat-land, and if the Dragon wear a black ribbon round his neck, or a band of crape,

s catalogue of So

zation but a thin veneer over natural appetites? What would a club be without its chefs, a social affair wi