The children would flock round to see him; and even the busy newsboy would pause, and forget the newspapers under his arm, while he watched these interviews between the birds and their good friend. A year afterwards I was in Boston again; but the poor peddler and his birds were not to be seen. All Franklin Street, and much of the eastern side of Washington Street, were in ruins. There had been a great fire in Boston,--the largest that was ever known there; and more than fifty acres, crowded with buildings, had been made desolate, so that nothing but smoking ruins was left. This was in November, 1872. I do not know where the poor peddler has gone; but I hope that his little friends, the pigeons, have found him out, and that they still fly down to bid him good-day, and take their dinner from his open hand. The picture is an actual drawing from life, made on the spot, and not from memory. The likeness of the peddler is a faithful one; and I thank the artist for reproducing the scene so well to my mind. Folks _do_ say that he has hit off _my_ likeness also in the man standing behind the taller of the two little girls. ALFRED SELWYN. ROWDY-DOWDY. ROWDY-DOWDY loves a noise; Cannot play with quiet boys; Cannot play with quiet toys: Rowdy-dowdy loves a noise! In the street he takes delight,-- In the street from morn till night: Don't I tell the story right, Rowdy-dowdy, noisy sprite? Rowdy-dowdy's full of fun; Never walks if he can run; Never likes the setting sun: That stops Rowdy-dowdy's fun. [Illustration] He is full of prankish ways; Never still one moment stays; Boys are fond of boyish plays: These are Dowdy's rowdy days. Out at elbows, out at toes, Out at knees, the urchin goes: Still he laughs, and still he grows Rowdier, dowdier, I suppose. Rowdy-dowdy, don't you see, Full of noisy, boys-y glee, Is as sweet as he can be, For the sprite belongs to me! He is mine to have and hold, Worth his weight in solid gold: Ah! I've not the heart to scold Rowdy-dowdy, brave and bold! JOSEPHINE POLLARD. [Illustration] THE OBEDIENT CHICKENS. WHEN I was a little girl, I had a nice great Shanghai hen given to me. She soon laid a nest full of eggs; and then I let her sit on them, till, to my great joy, she brought out a beautiful brood of chickens. They were big fellows even at first, and had longer legs and fewer feathers than the other little yellow roly-poly broods that lived in our barn-yard. But, although I could see that they were not quite so pretty as the others, I made great pets of them.