ever; but the moment he was gone, Patrick and I caught every chicken, and, in spite of struggles and cries, forced two whole peppers-for two were certainly better than one-down the throat of each, and turned them out of the coop.

They did not seem to be much improved by the operation, and went "gaping" round the premises in a miserable way, leaving one of their number dead here and another there, till they happened to attract the attention of my neighbor's pups. I have referred to these pups before. They were playful creatures; if there was any horrible and disgusting injury that they could, in a frolicsome mood, inflict upon me, they never missed the chance. They tore up the sticks that I set to mark my flowers; they scratched and dug in my strawberry bed, which I had succeeded in planting before the summer was over; they dragged in every direction my clothes that were laid out to bleach; they tormented my favorite cat; they appeared to think of nothing but plan deviltry against me, and do nothing but execute it. When the more flagrant of these wrongs had from time to time been inflicted, my neighbor called to apologize blandly and express his regrets, but never once proposed to kill the dreadful brutes.

The moment these pups saw my chickens they

started after them. The fluttering, squawking, and barking attracted my attention, and I gave chase to the pups. Away we went, chickens screeching with fear, the pups yelping with delight, and I storming with rage: "Come here! get out! go home! how dare you ?"

If there had been one pup, I might have stood a chance; but, "being in doubt where to begin," I "both neglected." Each pounced on a chicken-of course, the largest and healthiest and squeezed the breath out of them in a moment, and did not even give me the sweet satisfaction of revenge; but, having effected their object, and seeing me approach, stick in hand, bent on exemplary punishment, they each dropped their prey, and, darting through the neighboring fence, secured their retreat, or, as army men have it, "saved their bacon." This little amusement was renewed daily, and Patrick was continually on guard against a sortie of the enemy. But we became more skillful with practice, and a few well-directed blows and successful shots sent the enemy howling to the rear, and demoralized him greatly. Our chickens, however, had somewhat diminished in number; there were the killed, wounded, and missing, leaving quite a moderate residue. Moreover, there was a gentleman of Irish extraction living

close by, who had kept chickens before I had; but it seemed to me that his flock increased as mine diminished, and I even thought that I recognized some of my "lost ones." It may be that they went there for safety, although, if any questions were asked, he could always explain how he came by that particular bird, and give its entire history, and the man's name that he bought it from.

When the pups were repressed and the gaps cured, and my remaining chickens--which were reduced to ten—were persuaded to stay at home, and when they had become large enough to give promise of future usefulness and eggs, Patrick was directed to prepare boxes for them to lay in. He filled these half full of soft hay, and deposited a white glass nest-egg, which cost twenty-five cents apiece, in each, and fastened them up in the most enticing locations. But the chickens did not seem to fancy the nests; in fact, they did not appear to turn. their minds to laying at all, but were contented to "eat, drink, and be merry," without regard to their philoprogenitive duties. Patrick suggested that a little "mate" might bring them up to the required point, and, when that failed, said something about lime being required to make the shells; but I did not see the necessity for shells till we had the "filling" ready.

Certainly every inducement was offered those chickens to lay; they had abundant "feeds" of meal, and oats, and wheat, with "mate" twice a day, like an Irish servant-girl; they had the grazing of the entire "five acres," and most attractive boxes, but they did not seem to improve their opportunities. I had concluded that they were such a rare breed that they could not afford to overstock the market, and no longer wondered at their monstrous price, when Patrick rushed in to announce that the big Dominick-by which name he insisted upon calling a bird that had been sold to me as a Black Spanish of the most valuable kind-had a nest full of eggs.

"Sure and I jist found her out, the cunning baste; she stole her nest on me, and has it full of the purtiest eggs yez iver saw."

“Well, Patrick, that is a good sign; you must look round and find some more; they are all doubtless laying. Now go and bring me the eggs that you

have found."

"Bring in the eggs, is it?"

"Certainly; it is too late in the year for setting." "Sure, and how am I to do that?"

66

Why, go and take them; you're not afraid of a

hen ?""

"But how am I to get there?"

"Walk, of course; what do you mean by talking. to me in that way?"

"I don't mane any thing at all, at all, but I can't get the eggs unless your honor pulls down the barn. The old spalpeen has settled herself right under the middle of the flure, and meself spied her out through the cracks."

Sure enough, there she was. Utterly regardless of all the attractive boxes and imitation eggs, she had crawled away where only a rat could follow, and where a rat would, in the end, be sure to follow her, and had made her nest under the centre timber of the barn floor. There were two ways of reaching her-either by digging a tunnel such as our prisoners made at Libby, or by taking up the planks. As both of these modes would have cost somewhat more than the eggs were worth, even supposing she was a Black Spanish and not a Dominick-about which, I confess, I occasionally had some doubts-we never enjoyed more than a dim view through the dirty cracks of our "hidden treasures."

This, however, was rather encouraging; another hen might conclude to lay, and might select a more eligible situation. It was a difficult matter to get under the barn, and the next one might not be willing to take the trouble, even for the satisfaction of