Did any of our readers ever notice the beautiful, active little dogs, carried or led by strange looking men, half grooms, half keepers, in the Quadrant. Smart, clean, active little animals. When put on the ground, to show to the old lady who has stopped her carriage to look at them, they jump and frisk about. None of our readers ever visited a rat-pit in the "Dials," where a dog not much larger than the rats themselves, kills them against time. If they had, they would see condition the result of moderate and judicious feeding. Now, the old lady we have just mentioned bought one of these beautiful little dogs, which soon after might be seen on the front seat of the same carriage, a fat, sleepy, wheezy, ungainly mass of flesh. Poor little thing! it has been "taken care of," and has been "kindly treated!"

"Lucky for it," says the old lady; "it is always ill, and it would have died if that man had kept it. He starved it! Look.' Miss Jenkins, it will not eat a piece of the white meat of the chicken, without butter. Its appetite is so bad; and when it came I was afraid to feed it; it used to jump so at the food, I thought it would bite me. It has a nice little bed, and, in the winter, nice thick blankets; but it is very poorly, and takes no notice of anything".

The truth is, pets of all kinds (we are afraid we may sometimes class children with them) are "killed with kindness".

A London family takes a house in the country. Most people prefer that which they have not, and as, in London, there were no fowls to feed and look after, that was one of the anticipated pleasures. Some must be bought, and there is a large farmer in the neighborhood greatly renowned for his poultry. Our friends are hardly settled, - half the things are not unpacked, - when a morning is devoted to a walk or ride, to ask him to be good enough to let them have a set. "What a beautiful sight the yard presented.' What plumage! What ruddy combs and gills! But could they not see them nearer?" - " Oh, yes".

The appearance of a basket, and a few grains scattered about, brought them all up, and then the questions, - "How often do you feed?" "When do they roost?" "What makes them so hungry?"

The pen was purchased. "Ah!" said the young ladies, as they rode home; "the fowls have made a good exchange. We will take more care of them than that".

Well, the fowls came home, and were put into the house where they are to roost, with plenty of food. There was plenty - enough for a week. They are let out in the morning, and will not eat the barley. It is supposed they do not like it. " Try something else: give them some bread." They pick only a few crumbs. "Well, leave it on the ground, and they will feed when hungry." Day after day goes on, and the anticipated pleasure is not realized. The fowls are dull, careless of food, are fed twice as well as they ever were, and only get worse.

A friend suggests that a trough shall be provided where they can feed when they like. It is done, and it stands in the yard full of barley. The birds go to it sometimes, take a mouthful or two, and then rush to the water, where they drink greedily.

The birds are evidently going back, and it is necessary to call a council, and hold a consultation as to what shall be done with the tiresome fowls. The only member of the establishment who is an authority, is an odd man - half gardener, half servant, who lived with the former owner of the house. He is consulted: - "Did his former master keep fowls?" - " Yes." "What breed?" - "Don't know, he was not particular." "Were they ever ill?" - "Never." "Did he take much care of them?" - "No, none." "Did he feed them much J" - No." "Did they lay then? - "Oh, yes! well." "Did he know any one who understood fowls?" - "Yes, Mr. Taplin".

Mr. Taplin is one of a very useful class. An active, Well-informed country gentleman, of small fortune. He possesses a knowledge of gardening; he is a good judge of a horse or a dog; and an authority on pigs, poultry, and oows. He has good taste in laying out a garden. He has good taste in another way - he does not intrude all these subjects when in the society of ladies, but waits till his opinion is asked. He is an indispensable man to a London family settling in the country, and just now is talking to the head of the family in the kitchen garden. His advice is asked. There is a quiet, humorous smile, or curl, about his mouth, while he draws from his young querist the history of all she has done for her new pets; and when she winds up by saying, " It is so provoking, that the birds looked so well when they were neglected, and now fell off when they were well attended to," he heartily, but not rudely laughed. Seeing some little dismay and chagrin on the young lady's countenance, he apologized for doing so, and saying her father was coming over to see his kitchen garden, he invited her to see his poultry.

Everything was correct about his place. Most beautiful Dorkings were running in the yard. Cochins were in a pen looking into a small orchard. Sebright Bantams were in another. All were in startling condition. The young lady sighed as she mentally compared these birds with her own. These were so bright, so healthy, and so hungry. Had they been her own, she would have been delighted to see them all rush after a few grains that were thrown down. Having found it was feeding-time, she waited to see in what way it would be done Mr. Taplin was provided with a small tub of slacked meal. "Was that all he was going to give to thirty fowls?" - "Yes; and they would not have all of it." He took a small piece in his hand, and threw it down, not at his feet, but a long way from him. Such a running and scrambling for the morsels as the little lump broke and scattered about When all was eaten, then another lot was thrown down. There was the same struggle for it. But after a few more, the anxiety had ceased, and they pecked leisurely.

No more was given. "Surely/' said the young lady, "that is not enough." - "Plenty," was the answer. "If they want more they must find it".

True enough: they were now seen dividing into little parties, and seeking - some the shrubbery, others the orchard; but all seemed satisfied. "But the poor birds in the pens, surely they had more?" - "No; only as much as they will run after." - "Yet how well they looked." - "And where do these beautiful birds roost?" - "Come and see".

In a corner of the yard is an old woodhouse. It is boarded, and the boards are cracked and open in places. It is very lofty, and well thatched. The floor of this house is covered with bright red gravel: the under layer is also gravel, well trodden and rammed down. The surface is scrupulously clean. The perches are only two feet from the ground, and are movable, for convenience of cleaning out. It does not look smart enough for our young friend: she looks at it contemptuously, and peers about for something she cannot find. - "What is it?" - "Where is their food?" - "What food?" - "For them before they are let out." - "They have none." - London Poultry Chronicle.