We children were stationed far away from danger; and another man and Henry chopped and chopped, till it was almost ready to fall, when they stepped back, and, in less than a minute, there was such a whistling through the air, such a crashing, and breaking of branches, and then a loud thud! The tree was down. I felt quite breathless with excitement; and so did the others; for it was some minutes before we ran up to see how many nuts there were. Oh, such lots! all spread around, and beaten out of the prickly burrs, all ready for us. I cannot remember how many we gathered, but it was some bushels; and we could not take all that day: so we concluded to return the next afternoon after school. [Illustration] And what do you think? When we got there, not a nut was to be found! The little squirrels had been busy in our absence, and had taken away every one of them. Saucy squirrels! But we did not grudge them the nuts; for we had plenty. AUNT JENNY. THE PIGS. THEY really are a pretty sight, My little pigs, so small and white! Their tails have such a curious kink; Their ears are lined with palest pink: They frisk about as brisk and gay As school-boys on a holiday. I watch them scamper to and fro: How clean they look! how fast they grow! But they are only pigs, dear me! And that is all they'll ever be. Beside their pen, above its wall, A garden-rose grows fresh and tall, Its blossoms, wet with morning dew, The sweetest flowers that ever grew. With every passing wind that blows Comes scattered down a milk-white rose, In leaves like scented flakes of snow, Upon the little pigs below. They only grunt, "Ur, Ur," and say, "We want more milk and meal to-day. The flowers may bloom, the flowers may fall, 'Tis no concern of ours at all." For they are only pigs, dear me! And that is all they'll ever be. Upon the rose's highest bough There often comes a robin now, And sings a song so sweet and clear, It makes one happy just to hear; For never yet, on summer day, Was sung a more delightful lay. What care the little pigs below? The bird may come, the bird may go; For while he sings, "Quee, quee!" they squeal, "We want some milk, we want some meal!" For they are only pigs, dear me! And that is all they'll ever be. MARIAN DOUGLAS. A DAY WITH THE ALLIGATORS. I WANT to tell the young folks who read "The Nursery" something of my visit to Florida last winter. We first went to Jacksonville, which lies on the St. John's River, and is a very pleasant city. I wish you would find it on the map.