We are now on our way to the kennels--fine, light, airy, and well-built places. We pause just a moment, however, in the playground; for all the bigger kennels have a playground in the rear, where the dogs are let out to enjoy a merry gambol, or indulge in the luxury of a shower-bath, where at one end of the ground a fountain is playing, under the refreshing sprays of which the dogs delight to run. Wooden boxes are provided under which the animals may go in the summer months, when the sun proves too warm for them, or shelter from the rain during an occasional shower, or inclement weather. This particular playground is inhabited principally by large dogs--retrievers, Scotch collies, greyhounds, and even what are generally known as carriage-dogs. We invite them to the sides of the playground--round which substantial iron bars run--and what a noise is there! Yet we are assured that at night not a sound is to be heard--the sudden shriek of the whistle of a passing train over the bridge close at hand, or the warning note of a steam tug on the river never disturbs them. Dogs in company seem to ensure contentment. You may peep into half a dozen other playgrounds, where the creatures will be found to be more of a diminutive type--hundreds of fox-terriers; indeed, it would seem that the lost terriers number ten times more than any of the other species, whilst retrievers and collies vie with each other for next place on the roll. And round these immense open cages good people wander with distressful countenances in search of those who have left their kennels in the back garden without notice, or wagged their tails for freedom by forsaking the comforts of the hearth-rug in the front parlour. Suddenly a visitor recognises and is recognised. "Jack, Jack!" the owner cries. Jack jumps up in mad delight, barks and barks again, makes a frantic effort to pull down the iron bars in its joy, but all to no avail. Then a keeper enters the playground, picks Jack up in his arms, and surely never was a happier recognition. It is really this that those in authority at Battersea depend upon more than anything else, so as to ensure the lost animal being returned to its rightful owner. As a rule, the person losing a dog goes into the yard accompanied by a keeper. He picks out a dog, and it is fastened near the gates, where it can be seen from the office. The owner is invited to this part of the yard, and the keeper watches how the dog and its master meet one another again. This simple plan seldom fails. Furthermore, a set of questions have to be answered by the claimant, and mistakes seldom occur. [Illustration: THE PLAYGROUND.]