Many of my little readers have owned tame rabbits; but I doubt if they ever had for a pet the little wild rabbit who lives in the woods, and, at the South, builds his nest above ground.

On a warm, sunny afternoon in May, two little rabbits, whose mother had been killed by a dog, were brought home in a gentleman's pocket, and given to my little boys. They were not old enough to feed themselves: so we put some milk in a small bottle, and tied a piece of sponge to the neck of it, and in that way the little things sucked up the milk.

The children had a large, old-fashioned fireplace in their room, and, after taking out the andirons, they covered the bricks with fresh clover and grass, making a safe and snug home for the rabbits at night. Several times a day they were allowed to run about the lawn, and crop the sweet white clover; and often at night, they would jump out from their home in the fireplace, and run about the room.

They were named George and Mary Rabbit, and always used to sleep side by side. But after a few weeks they must have felt tired of their humdrum life; for one bright morning they ran away. I hope they are living happily together in the fragrant woods from which they were brought.

Kittrells, N. C.