I had fed, with her, our pet pigeons for the last time—the pretty creatures that we had tamed to peck their food from our hands. I had given a farewell stroke to all their silky backs as they crowded in my lap. I had tenderly kissed my own peculiar favourites, the pair of snow white fan tails; I had played my last tune on the old familiar piano, and sung my last song to papa; not the last, I hoped, but the last for, what appeared to me, a very long time; and, perhaps, when I did these things again, it would be with different feelings; circumstances might be changed, and this house might never be my settled home again.
"My dear little friend, the kitten, would certainly be changed; she was already growing a fine cat; and when I returned, even for a hasty visit at Christmas, would, most likely, have forgotten both her playmate, and her merry pranks. I had romped with her for the last time; and when I stroked her soft bright fur, while she lay purring herself to sleep in my lap, it was with a feeling of sadness I could not easily disguise. Then, at bed-time, when I retired with Mary to our quiet little chamber, where already my drawers were
