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      I wish I had a horse of my own,” said Charley Graham, as he saw one of his friends riding on a pony which had recently been presented to him by his father.

      “And I'd like one, too,” exclaimed his brother George.

      “Well,” said Charley? “suppose we ask father about it. Perhaps he'd give them to us, when he knows Henry Johnson has one.”

      “That's so,” was the reply, “as I've heard him say he believed in boys knowing how to ride.”

      There was an animated discussion as to the probabilities of the granting of the request, and also as to the best form of presenting it. It was agreed that the petition should be made that evening, shortly after dinner. The youths were good students of human nature, and had observed that Mr. Graham was in his best humor after partaking of a satisfactory meal. In this respect he was not unlike the rest of the world.

      Charley and George were two youths with whom the readers of “Dog Stories and Dog Lore” are already acquainted. Their adventures in rearing and training two dogs, a Newfoundland and a Black-and-tan Terrier, are familiar to many young people. We are about to learn of their experience with horses and other quadrupeds, and will join them in listening to stories of animal intelligence in various parts of the world.

      Mr. Graham received the request of his sons with a complacency that greatly encouraged them, but, before giving an answer, he questioned them as to their knowledge of horses. It was not very extensive, to be sure, as it was limited to a knowledge of the horses then in the stable, and none of these had been trained to the saddle. Next he asked them how they would treat the animals in case they should become the possessors of what they wanted.

      “I would treat them kindly,” replied Charley, “and I am sure George would do the same. We have got along so nicely with Rover and Dash, by always treating them kindly, that we believe the same plan will do with horses. Are we right?”

      “Yes,” replied Mr. Graham; “the horse has a great deal of affection for his master when the latter is his friend, though perhaps not as much as the dog. Horses may be taught to do a great many things; they vary in intelligence and disposition, like dogs, and men too, for that matter. Where they are intelligent and of good disposition they are capable of an amount of training that will surprise most people.”

      “Here is a story which I found to-day in a newspaper,” continued the gentleman, “which will illustrate what I was saying about the intelligence of the horse. It is told by a writer for Every Other Sunday, about a favorite animal that was called Jane. The author of the story says:

      “'She was large and strong, a good carriage horse, obedient to the least touch of rein or inflection of voice, and so gentle that she was the best possible playfellow for our youngest, a child of ten years, who was never happier than when in company with Jane.

      “'Little Emily was not long in learning to harness after she once made Jane's acquaintance; and the great horse would bend her head down meekly while the child, mounting a chair, succeeded after great effort in putting on the bridle. Again Jane would stand with quiet patience while her little mistress tried to curry her, combed out her long mane and tail, patted and hugged her, ran about and under her, or climbed up for a ride on her broad back.

      “'One fair spring day we went for a long drive in the woods. It was so mild and lovely under the oaks and pines, and we found such treasures of flowers that we lingered and lingered, and were tempted to explore some grassy unused wood roads that looked especially inviting. In so doing we lost our way, and before we could again find the open country road the sun had set. Jane started off for home at a good pace; but it was distant several miles, and the darkness gathered fast. It was a cloudy, starless evening. Soon we could not see distinctly even the horse's length in front of us; but we knew Jane could be trusted, so we gave her a loose rein and let her take her own way. She was trotting briskly along a quiet lane, when suddenly she stopped. We could see no approaching team or any obstacle in the way, so bade Jane go on. To our astonishment the horse, for the first time in all our experience of her, refused to obey. She paid no attention to rein or voice, and only tossed her head a little at the unwelcome touch of the whip. We could see that she kept turning her head, and looking back at us in a gentle, wistful way. Clearly something was wrong. The driver threw down the reins, and springing from the carriage, walked up to the horse's head. Then the mystery wras explained.

      “'A few paces in front of Jane, seated right in the wheel-rut, was a little child—a curly-haired, blue-eyed baby of two years. He was patting the earth with one little hand, and looking up in a sweet, wondering way at the great horse, looming above him through the dusk. He was not directly in the horse's path; Jane could have passed him easily enough. How could she know that the swift-turning wheels behind her, which she herself could not? see, would reach and harm the child?

      “'Our good Jane! How glad we were of the disobedience that had troubled us so much a moment before! How we stroked and petted and praised her, even before we lifted the pretty baby from his perilous position,

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