The woodchuck, when taken young, is easily tamed, and becomes an interesting pet. The little animal can be taught to come when called, to run for food when whistled to, and to answer to a name. One called Chuck was very fond of bread spread with butter and sugar. If plain bread were offered to him he would taste it, make a wry face, spit out the bit in his mouth, and throw away the piece he held, and then he would straighten himself up and hold out his shining black hands for bread _with sugar_ on it. He always sat up stiffly on his hind legs when eating, and it was a comical sight to see him holding a long banana in his arms, until he had eaten the whole of it, blinking his bright black eyes with satisfaction. Chuck was taught many tricks, to balance a stick on his nose, swing in a trapeze, draw a toy cart, and the like. He was very affectionate and tractable. Early in September Chuck began to eat voraciously and soon became very fat, but in the first week in October his appetite failed; he ate at first once a day, then once in two days, and after awhile he became quite restless and stupid. He was given his liberty, and watched closely to learn his habits. He began gnawing grass, gathering dry leaves and tucking them in various corners. At length he found a place that suited him to dig, and then he began making his nest. When the excavation was complete Chuck disappeared for several days. One evening he tapped on the kitchen door. When the door was opened he ran to a basket of apples and ate one, then ate a slice of bread and sugar. He appeared crazy with haste, and as soon as he was through eating he scampered off, to be gone a long time. On the first day of February Chuck crept out of his hole, and sat for a moment in the sun. Before he could be reached, however, he had returned to it. In six weeks and three days he again came out, and what was surprising, he did not appear to have forgotten any of his friends, of whom he had many among the cats, dogs, and rabbits of the neighborhood, trotting about among them on his hind legs. A cruel boy and a savage dog ended the life of this harmless little animal. C. C. M. FLOWERS WITH HORNS AND CLAWS. E. F. MOSBY. The milkweed is best known to most of us by its pods--long, rough cases, packed close with shining white silk attached to little brown seeds. The lightest wind that blows can carry these a stage or two on their journey with such lovely silken sails. But perhaps everyone has not noticed one rather strange thing about them. Almost always there are two pods, one vigorous of growth, large and full; the other stunted and ill-formed. They are like the two brothers or sisters of Fairy Tales, one fair and well-favored and gracious, the other ill-grown and dwarfish. But _why_ this is so, is one of the many secrets of the milkweed.