A gentleman in our carriage had two little mites of terriers in his overcoat pockets. One, he said, was a Skye, and the other a Yorkshire, terrier. Little Skye was tired and sleepy, and showed just the tip of his nose and one ear above the pocket; but little Yorkshire was perfectly wild with fun. He had on a small brown blanket, bound with scarlet braid, which his master said was his new Ulster coat. He began his pranks by putting his nose in Charley's pockets, looking for a shilling. Not finding one, the gentleman sent him into his own coat pocket, whence, after burrowing and tugging for a while, out he came, with a coin between his teeth, which he held tight and would not 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.