The ants, therefore, climb up trees on whose leaves the _aphides_ have collected. Then an ant goes close to one of these insects for a drop of the sweet juice. If this be not soon given out, the ant will gently tap the body of the aphis, and thus obtain a supply of the sweet fluid. After feasting on this, the ant will pass to another little aphis and treat it in the same manner for another drop. But the ant has sense enough to treat the aphis as we treat our cows. Our farmers, you know, keep the cows in enclosed meadows, and supply them with hay and turnips when the grass fails. The ants also take a number of aphides close to their nests, and there keep them secure and supply them with suitable food. Now the lady-birds are also fond of the aphides, and eat them up by hundreds. But the ant has sense enough to keep the aphis for a supply of honey-dew instead of killing it as the lady-bird does. Is not the ant, therefore, entitled to be regarded as a cow-keeper, and are not the tiny little aphides his milch-cows? T.C. * * * * * BABY JEAN. Eyes as bright as diamonds, Mouth all sweet and clean, Cheeks with tempting dimples That's my baby Jean!" Hands as soft as rose-leaves, Teeth like glistening pearls, Little sunbeams woven On her heads for curls. Little feet that patter Here and everywhere, Little mind that's busy, Filled with childish care. Lips from which the kisses Bubble all day long, Tongue that's ever singing Some sweet cradle-song. How I love my baby Words can never tell; And she--she loves papa Just as much and well. She's the dearest fairy That was ever seen; And from Heaven I'm certain Came my baby Jean! F.E. HAMILTON. [Illustration: ] THE FRIENDLY DOG. Poor Old Whitey! He fell lame, and was turned out in a little field to starve. And he would have starved, if it hadn't been for Milo. And who was Milo? He was a dog who had lived in the stable with Old Whitey. They had become great friends. Each had found the other trusty and kind. And I think Milo must have reasoned in this way: "Is it not sad to see my old friend shut up in that barren little field with nothing to eat? He has nibbled all the grass, and there is nothing left for him. It is too bad; and I can't stand it." In the cellar of the stable were some turnips and beets. What does Milo do but take a long beet in his mouth, and carry it to Old Whitey, who neighs, as if to say, "Thank you, old friend." Then he gobbles it up, and looks at Milo, as if to say, "Another, if you please." Milo trots off, and brings him a turnip. Oh, how it does relish! Old Whitey begins to caper, in spite of his lame legs. Milo kept running to and fro for half an hour, till Old Whitey had made a good dinner. Then the man who had shut up the old horse found out what was going on.