But things do not always go well, especially if you happen to have a cat or a dog in the house, or, as happened to me on one occasion, both. I had a splendid Norwich canary, with a top-knot, which was the admired of all admirers. He used to sing all day long in my room; but one day, the servant having moved the cage into another room, Carlo and Tom got at it, and frightened my poor pet to death. Carlo was ashamed of himself as soon as he had knocked over the cage, but Tom was a fierce old cat, and made such efforts to get at the canary that the poor little thing died from sheer fright. I do not like to see birds confined to very small cages, especially where more than one is kept. It is best to give them plenty of air, and room to fly about in. The best of all is an aviary where they can move as freely as if they were out-of-doors. I know a gentleman who has by kindness got quite a collection of birds to come into his garden and make their homes there without living in confinement at all. [Illustration: JAMES T. FIELDS'S LIBRARY.] JAMES T. FIELDS'S LAST POEM. The following poem was written by Mr. James T. Fields, of Boston, for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, only a few days before his death, which took place on the 25th of April. It is the last poem that he wrote, and will therefore have an interest for our readers apart from its merit. Mr. Fields was for many years a partner in the publishing house of Ticknor & Fields, afterward, on the death of Mr. Ticknor, changed to that of Fields, Osgood, & Co. On retiring from business, several years ago, Mr. Fields devoted himself to literature, and published several popular books. He was a kind-hearted man, and helped many young men and women, who never went to him in vain for encouragement and assistance. Like the English poet Wordsworth, he believed that men should never mix "their pleasure or their pride With suffering to the meanest thing that feels," and his last poem shows how strongly he could plead for a poor brute creature in distress. ROVER'S PETITION. "Kind traveller, do not pass me by, And thus a poor old dog forsake; But stop a moment on your way, And hear my woe, for pity's sake! "My name is Rover; yonder house Was once my home for many a year; My master loved me; every hand Caressed young Rover, far and near. "The children rode upon my back, And I could hear my praises sung; With joy I licked their pretty feet, As round my shaggy sides they clung. "I watched them while they played or slept; I gave them all I had to give; My strength was theirs from morn till night; For only them I cared to live. "Now I am old, and blind, and lame, They've turned me out to die alone, Without a shelter for my head, Without a scrap of bread or bone. "This morning I can hardly crawl, While shivering in the snow and hail; My teeth are dropping one by one; I scarce have strength to wag my tail.