We have a little white dog whose name is Phantom. This is his portrait. I hope you are glad to meet him. Ask him to shake hands. He would do so at once if you could only see him in reality.

When he was only a few months old, he followed us all to church without our knowing it; nor did we see him, till, in the most solemn part of the service, we heard a patter, patter, patter, coming up the aisle, and there stood Phantom at the door of our pew. In his mouth was a long-handled feather duster, which he had found in some obscure corner of the building, and where it had been put (as it was supposed) carefully out of everybody's way.

Phantom is very intelligent, and has learned a number of tricks. He can understand what is said to him better than any dog I ever knew; but he is best known among the children here for his love of music and singing.

He has only learned one song yet; but he knows that as soon as he hears it. Wherever he may be,—up stairs, or down stairs, or out of doors,—if he hears that song, he will sit up, throw his head back, and you will hear his voice taking part in the music.

You may sing a dozen songs, all in about the same tone; but he will take no notice till he hears the tune he has learned, and then he will sing with you—not in a bark or a yelp, but in a pure, clear voice, as if he enjoyed it.

If you could see him sitting up, with his nose in the air, his mouth open, and his fore-paws moving as if playing the piano, and could hear his music, I am sure you would laugh till the tears came into your eyes.

Carondelet, Mo.