t give up. His
master said that when the dog found a piece of money he went alone to the
cake shop, and the baker would give him a cake, which he would run home
with and eat up immediately, being particularly fond of sweets. He was two
years and a half old, ten inches long, with yellowish hair, which hung in
a fringe over his mischievous black eyes. He was elastic as a ball of
wool, and looked very much like one.

But we had to part company with him at King's Cross Station, where his
owner put him in his pocket again, and bade us good-bye. We could see the
tip of the little tail wagging till we lost sight of him in the distant
crowd.

It would take a long time to even mention all the handsome dogs, and many
of the young readers of ST. NICHOLAS will not need to be told more about
them, as there have been several dog-shows in America since the time when
Charley and I saw the one in the Alexandra Palace at London. The boys and
girls who visited any one of the dog-shows held recently in New York,
Boston, and other American cities, will no doubt remember many interesting
and curious sights. But they did not have a greater treat than Charley and
I had, all for the small price of one English shilling.

[Illustration: SKYE TERRIER.]

[Illustration: KEPT IN.]

MERRY RAIN.

BY FLETA FORRESTER.

Sprinkle, sprinkle, comes the rain,
Tapping on the window-pane;
Trickling, coursing,
Crowding, forcing
Tiny rills
To the dripping window-sills.

Laughing rain-drops, light and swift,
Through the air they fall and sift;
Dancing, tripping,
Bounding, skipping
Thro' the street,
With their thousand merry feet.

Every blade of grass around
Is a ladder to the ground;
Clinging, striding,
Slipping, sliding,
On they come
With their busy zip and hum.

In the woods, by twig and spray,
To the roots they find their way;
Pushing, creeping,
Doubling, leaping,
Down they go
To the waiting life below.

Oh, the brisk and merry rain,
Bringing gladness in its train!
Falling, glancing,
Tinkling, dancing
All around,--
Listen to its cheery sound!

DRIFTED INTO PORT.

BY EDWIN HODDER.

CHAPTER V.

A CATASTROPHE.

Blackrock School could never be the same again to Howard. Although he