manner, on opposite borders, when Robert Wade, the gardener, who was earthing up a bed of potatoes on a neighbouring plot of ground, beckoned me aside, saying, in a low voice," Miss Kate, I have something pretty to give you, if you will come along with me, only do not say a word to the other young ladies.”

Now I never could exactly understand the reason for this unnecessary charge of secrecy; and had I been older (for I was but seven years of age) possibly I might have been wise enough to have declined accepting the gift on such terms; as it was, I entertained no such scruples, but willingly followed my conductor to the coachhouse. Raising me from the ground in his arms, the gardener bade me look into the great hogshead, in which I beheld, to my infinite delight, four nice little grey rabbits, munching some carrot-tops and parsley. On our approach they reared up on their hind legs, and begged imploringly

for the fresh greens which my conductor had supplied me with, for the purpose of feeding them. I had never kept rabbits, scarcely even seen these pretty, inoffensive animals, and I was so pleased and amused by watching their engaging behaviour, that it was with some difficulty I could be persuaded to relinquish my hold on the top of the tub, to which I clung while looking down on them. One rabbit in particular attracted my attention; it was distinguished from its little grey companions by a white spot on the forehead and white feet. This rabbit Robert said should be mine, provided I did not tell my sisters or brothers, or they would want to take it away from me, he was sure.

The pleasure I experienced from the possession of Whitefoot (for so I named my new pet) was greatly diminished by being forced to conceal the circumstance of his being mine from my sisters and brothers, to whom I would most willingly have imparted my good fortune; neither was I permitted to

visit my rabbit as often as I liked, but only as it suited the convenience and caprice of the gardener, whose time was generally occupied when I desired to see my treasure. Sometimes, however, he would indulge me by letting me have my pet to nurse and fondle for a few minutes, when he was employed in the coach-house; but he steadily resisted all my entreaties to be allowed to keep my rabbit in a box by itself in the root-house, where I could feed and caress it as often as I wished. To this proposal he always replied: "If you tease me, Miss Kate, I shall take the rabbit away from you, and give it to some little lady that I know, who will be content to let it remain where it is: besides, it will die if you take it away from its brothers and sisters." This argument was to me a weighty one, and contained too powerful an appeal to my affections, for Whitefoot to be disregarded; so the rabblt remained in the sugar-hogshead as heretofore.

The summer passed away, and the au

tumnal season was already far advanced. I had enjoyed the nominal possession of Whitefoot upwards of five months, during which time he had grown a fine creature, and exceedingly tame. He would lick my fingers, rub his head against my hand, and nestle to my shoulder when I took him on my lap. His skin was as soft and glossy as grey satin, and he was the darling of my heart. I was already anticipating with joyful expectation the time when he would be all my own, for Robert had hinted at the probability of his fitting up a hutch for Whitefoot in the root-house. This roothouse, I must tell you, was a shed in a secluded part of the garden, near a small oval pond of water, and which papa had taken in hand to beautify, and render a very pretty and ornamental object, by planting Spanish, and gold, and silver blotched ivy on either side the door-way, which he had turned into a gothic arch. The windows were latticed, and a screen of ever

greens and flowering shrubs planted round, greatly improved the appearance of the place. The prospect of my rabbit being introduced into the root-house, and placed under my own immediate care, was truly delightful to me; but, alas! the end of our expectations does not always correspond with the beginning, and my childish hopes were frustrated in a manner as unlooked for as it was affecting.

One cold foggy afternoon, in the month of November, as I sat on a little stool beside mamma, hemming the bottom of a new diaper slip for my baby sister, only looking off my work occasionally to kiss the dear little thing, or touch the waxen cheek and dimpled hand that rested so quietly on mamma's bosom, we were suddenly interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Thomas, my youngest brother, who ran into the room, quite out of breath, and evidently much discómposed. His usually red cheek was colourless, his grey eyes