TASSO is a big black dog. His back comes up almost to the top of a dining-table. He does not look as though he could ever have been carried about in a handkerchief; but, when he was a puppy, he was brought home in that way by a young lady as a present to her brothers. Tasso seems to take delight in making himself useful. When there is work to be done, he always wants to do his part. He brings in wood, stick by stick, and puts it in the wood-box, never stopping till the box is full. While he is carrying in the wood, the boys fill the chip-basket; and then Tasso takes that in his mouth, and puts it in its place beside the wood-box. If any of the family has a basket or a bag to take to the station, Tasso always insists on taking it. One rainy day, we sent him to the station with three umbrellas, and he delivered them all safely. One day his master went out to the barn without his hat. Tasso did not think this was proper: so he took the hat in his mouth and carried it out to him. I could tell you many other amusing things about Tasso. He is always attentive and obedient, and every one who knows him loves him and trusts him. F. A. S. MAKING CHEESES. "DOES the little fairy Work in a dairy? I hear her talk about making cheese,-- She with her locks the color of money, Hanging long and crinkled and sunny Down to her waist,--a golden fleece." Oh, such a laughter As rings out after My words, is the sweetest sound I know! Sparkle the eyes that had been dreaming:-- "Aunty dear, if you want to see me, I'll show you how to make one,--so!" [Illustration] Soon as she utters This, out she flutters, Her full fresh frock as white as the snows; Round she whirls, and then in a minute Sits down quick, and the air within it Puffs it out like a full-blown rose. That's what she pleases To call "making cheeses." I'm sure I could give it a better name. Call it playing at daffy-down-dilly, Call it playing at white day-lily: Either will suit me just the same. Lily for brightness She is, and for whiteness; A golden centre her long locks grow! And isn't that head, so shimmering, sunny, Daffy-down-dilly-like, yellow as money?-- Rogue she is anyway, _that_ I know. MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES. MY PETS. I AM a little girl seven years old. I live way up in the woods of Maine, in the little town of Howland, forty miles from anywhere. Now you may wonder how I can amuse myself, so far away from the world: so I am going to tell you.