The Nursery, No. 106, October, 1875. Vol. XVIII. | Page 4

some of the Italian race-courses, where the horses run without riders.
The horse has a strong memory. Franklin relates, that he had a horse that conducted him through a hilly country where it was difficult to find the road. Every time Franklin himself was unable to tell which road to take, he would leave the reins on the horse's neck, and the good beast, left to itself, never failed to go right.
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The noblest conquest that man ever made over the animal creation is that of the horse. Every thing in him breathes out vivacity and energy. That need of continual movement, that impatience during repose, that nervous motion of the lips, that stamping of the feet, all indicate a pressing need of activity.
UNCLE CHARLES.

THE PET OF THE SHIP.

PART III.
One day when the ship was at anchor in one of the ports on the western coast of South America, a number of sheep were brought on board. Whether Dennis regarded them as intruders, or not, I cannot say; but his treatment of them was anything but kind.
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The poor sheep stood in great fear of him, and fled in alarm whenever he made a charge at them. One by one they began to disappear; and, at last, only one--a little fellow whom the sailors afterward named Billy--was left.
He was greatly distressed when the last of his companions was taken away, and ran bleating about the deck in search of him. To add to his troubles, that dreadful bully Dennis, who had been watching him for some time, was now coming towards him. He was frightened nearly to death.
What must have been his delight when he saw in Dennis's eyes a look of pity, and heard his friendly grunt! I don't know what Dennis said; but I do know, that, half an hour afterwards, Billy had forgotten all about his troubles, and was lying down with his head resting in Dennis's fat neck.
Even the rough sailors were pleased; and as they looked at Dennis, who was fast asleep, they said, "Now that was a fine thing, and Dennis was the pig to do it. He was willing to fight with a flock of sheep; but, when it came to quarrelling with one little fellow, he was too noble for that."
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Thenceforth Dennis and Billy were inseparable, and no pair ever agreed better. There were times, however, when Dennis seemed a little vexed with Billy, though he was always as kind as possible. I will tell you of an instance.
Billy would always watch the crowd about Dennis, when the latter was taking his bath, with a great deal of anxiety; and, if Dennis did not appear very shortly, he would begin bleating loudly.
This would disgust Dennis immensely; but he couldn't bear to think that Billy's feelings were hurt: so he would leave his nice bath, and push his way through the men, until Billy could see him. Then he would return to the pump, grunting in a manner that plainly showed his feelings.
He was certainly saying, "I do wish that sheep had a little more of the pig about him. If I am out of his sight for a moment, he begins to cry, and take on in such a manner, that I must show myself to him; and then I have all the trouble of making the sailors pump again."
But the sailors only waited to make Dennis beg a little. They had no idea of not pumping again. They were always pleased when he showed so much good feeling for Billy; and generally he got a larger allowance of water to pay for it.
I believe that Dennis was not living when the ship reached California. That ever he became food for his sailor friends no one can imagine. Therefore his fate must remain a mystery, unless some of my readers happen to know one of the crew of "The Vanderbilt," and can learn from him something on the subject.
If they can, there are many, no doubt, who would be glad to hear from them in the pages of "The Nursery." My little girls would, at least. But, probably, Dennis has more of a place in their thoughts than he can have in those of others.
C.E.C.
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THE UNMOTHERLY HEN.
Now, my dear children, if you will be very quiet, I will tell you a true story, which I sometimes tell my little daughter Fanny and her cousin Grace, when they climb up on my knees just before going to bed.
On a farm near Fishkill, where Fanny's Aunt Jane lives, they raise a great many chickens, turkeys, ducks, and geese. When I was a boy, ever so many years ago, I used to have great fun hunting for eggs through the hay and straw in the barns.
Well, last year one of the hens, instead of laying her eggs in