The Chickadee is one of the farmer’s best friends. During the egg-laying season of the canker-worm moth it destroys a great many eggs. Examination of the stomach contents shows between 200 and 300 canker-worm eggs in each. It has been estimated that each of these birds destroys 14,000 of these eggs during the month of egg laying. The Chickadee has been accused of destroying the buds of fruit trees, but this is not substantiated. It has been found that whenever it attacks a bud it does so to secure the worm which has burrowed into the center. These birds are doubly useful because they remain with us the entire year and continue their destruction of eggs and larvæ. The amount of work done by a pair of these birds in destroying eggs and larvæ of injurious insects is more than could be accomplished by any man. They should therefore receive the greatest protection possible. J. Rollin Slonaker. [Illustration: CAROLINA CHICKADEE. (Parus carolinensis.) Life-size. FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.] DICK. (THE STORY OF A DOG.) My first remembrance is when I was about two weeks old and lived with my mother, brother and sister in a fancy basket that stood in the corner of a pleasant room in a house in the city of Apokeepsing. My mistress came into the room followed by another lady, and taking me up she said: “This is the one I am going to give to the little boy.” The other lady took me in her hands and smoothed my curls as she said: “Well, he is a dear little fellow—but what a darkey he is!” My father was an imported Russian poodle. He was pure white with pink eyes and nose, but he was cross, for the only time I remember seeing him, he growled at me and I hid in my mistress’ skirts while she scolded him. My mother was a Skye terrier, silver gray in color and very intelligent and affectionate. Our mistress loved us dearly and used to wash us and comb our hair until we were as clean as children. She was a pretty woman and we all loved her as much as she did us and would run to meet her and kiss her hands and jump in her lap as soon as she sat down. I used to wonder who the little boy was to whom I was to be given, and when he would come for me; but time went on and I was still with my mother and had nearly forgotten about being given away. One day when I was about five months old, my mistress came into the room and said to her daughter: “Emma, where is Sandy?” I pricked up my ears, for that was my name. She then called me and I ran to her. She took me in her arms and carried me to the street. There was a wagon standing by the sidewalk and in it were a gentleman and a dear brown-eyed little boy who gave a pleased laugh and caught me in his arms, as my mistress held me up to him, and he hugged me so hard that it almost hurt.