ls; don't they,
mamma?"

Baby pointed his little chubby finger, and said, "Ish!"

"They are prairie-dogs," said mamma; "but are sometimes called the
'wish-ton-wish' and 'prairie marmot,' and sometimes 'prairie marmot
squirrel.' It is like the marmot because it burrows in the ground, and
like the squirrel because it has cheek-pouches."

"Well, what do they call them _dogs_ for?" said Annie.

"Let us stop and watch them," said her papa. "Hark! do you hear them
bark?"

"Yes: it is a little squeaking bark," said Annie. "It sounds like
'chip-chip-chip.'"

"Now see," said her papa, "how funnily that little fellow sits up, with
his fore-paws hanging down, and watches us."

Annie shook the whip; and the prairie-dog scampered into his hole. Up
he popped his head again in a moment, and jerked his short tail, and
barked.

This seemed a signal for the whole town. On almost every mound appeared
two or three dogs; and they set up such a barking and jerking of tails,
that everybody in the wagon laughed and shouted.

"Now we will ride up close to the mound," said papa, as he started up
old Fox, and sung a bit of the old song:--

"The prairie-dogs in dog-town
Will wag each little tail,
And think there's something coming
Riding on a rail."

There were several bushels of dirt in the mound. In the centre of it was
the hole, which was very large at the entrance. The earth all around was
worn very smooth and hard.

Here the little dogs sit and bark and jerk, ready to dodge into their
hole in a moment. They all looked fat and clumsy. Their color is
reddish-brown. Owls and rattlesnakes are often found living with them;
but Annie did not see any.

MRS. O. HOWARD.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

DEAR LITTLE MARY.

DEAR little Mary,
Susan and Loo,
Jenny and Lizzie,
And Margaret too;
Now the sun's peeping,
Softly and sly,
In at the window,
Pets, where you lie!

Up, up, my darlings,
Up and away!
Out to the meadows
Sweet with new hay;

Out where the berries,
Dewy and red,
Hang in great clusters,
High overhead!

[Illustration]

Out where the golden-rod
Bends on its stalk,
And the wild roses
Gladden our walk;
Where amid bushes