his disappointed tail upon the floor, the sought-for bone still remaining somewhere else? Ah, no, my dear brethren! we are not so permitted to attempt to read the future. Suffice it for us to glean from this beautiful story its many lessons; suffice it for us to apply them, to study them as far as in us lies, and bearing in mind the natural frailty of our nature, to avoid being widows; to shun the patronymic of Hubbard; to have, if our means afford it, more than one cupboard in the house; and to keep stores in them all. And, O dear friends! keeping in recollection what we have learned this day, let us avoid keeping dogs that are fond of bones. But, brethren, if we do, if Fate has ordained that we should do any of these things, let us then go, as Mother Hubbard did, straight, without curveting or prancing, to our cupboard, empty though it be; let us, like her, accept the inevitable with calm steadfastness; and should we, like

her, ever be left with a hungry dog and an empty cupboard, may future chroniclers be able to write also of us in the beautiful words of our text, 'And so the poor dog had none.'"

AT MIDNIGHT.

EDGAR FAWCETT.

There is something at the window,
Tapping on the pane.

I heard it twice; I heard it thrice;

I hear it now again

Above the whirling tempest and the rushes

of the rain.

Why should I chill and tremble

At little sounds like these,

And sweat for fright in my bed at night,
And feel my pulses freeze,

I, that have battled bravely with perils upon seas?

The merciless gale brought not a sail

To the sea's great solitude.

"Courage," he whispered. . . and at last mad famine fired my blood!

God! how he shuddered when he saw
The murder in my face,

And raved for life beneath the knife,
And begged an hour of grace,

And caught me with his wasted arms in

agonized embrace!

Why should I chill and tremble

At little sounds like these,

And sweat with fright in my bed at night

And feel my pulses freeze?

Back, dim ghost at the window, to thy

grave in the tossing seas!

BURGLAR BILL.

[FROM THE LONDON PUNCH.]

(You must open in a hushed voice, and with an air of wonder at the world's iniquity.)

Through a window in the attic, brawny Burglar Bill has crept;

Stealthily he seeks a chamber where the jewelry is kept.

(Pronounce "joolery.")

He is furnished with a jemmy, centre-bit, and carpet-bag

For the latter "comes in handy," as he says, "to stow the swag."

("Femmy," "centre-bit," and "carpet-bag" are important words. Put good coloring into them.)