he most grandiloquent letter to
the large family of rats that had so favored us with their presence,
pointing out to them that at No. 65 Pearl Street was a large, fine house
which had never been favored with the residence of any of their family,
where they would find ample quarters and a fat larder. When finished, she
read the missive to the company, and we had a great laugh over it. As an
old superstition, she then put lard upon it, and carried it into the
attic, where it would probably be found by those to whom it was directed.

A few days later the young lady was at our house again, and burst into a
laugh, exclaiming: "Our house is overrun with rats!" That recalled to us
the fact that we had heard none in our walls. My daughter went to the
attic, and the letter was gone. While they were talking and laughing over
the curious affair, a friend came in, and, hearing the talk, said that two
evenings before, in the bright moonlight, he saw several rats running down
Congress Street, which was the straight road to Pearl Street. We have
never been troubled with them since, but I have not heard how it has been
with the house to which our beneficiaries were directed.

SAGACIOUS DOGS.

The following story is told by the Chinese minister at Washington:

"There was a Chinaman who had three dogs. When he came home one evening he
found them asleep on his couch of teakwood and marble. He whipped them and
drove them forth.

"The next night, when he came home, the dogs were lying on the floor. But
he placed his hand on the couch and found it warm from their bodies.
Therefore, he gave them another whipping.

"The third night, returning earlier than usual, he found the dogs sitting
before the couch, blowing on it to cool it."--_Philadelphia North
American._

RESIGNED TO THEIR FATE.

A man out West says he moved so often during one year that whenever
covered wagons stopped at the gate his chickens would fall on their backs
and hold up their feet in order to be tied and thrown in.--_Boston
Journal._

SCIENCE WAS FROST-BITTEN.

The cold weather of yesterday morning found its way into Alonzo Murphy's
kitchen, at Mount Freedom, New Jersey, and killed a specimen of the
vegetable kingdom that for months had been the pride of Mr. Murphy's
heart, and with which he expected to revolutionize dairying and strawberry
culture.

It has long been a cherished idea of Mr. Murphy's that by a judicious
crossing of the milkweed and strawb