pings and slidings, no leaning to the right, or falterings to the left.

With glorious simplicity we are told she got there.

And how was her noble effort rewarded?

"The cupboard was bare!" It was bare! There were to be found neither oranges, nor cheesecakes, nor penny buns, nor gingerbread, nor crackers, nor nuts, nor lucifer matches.

The cupboard was bare!

There was but one, only one, solitary cupboard in the whole of that cottage, and that one, the sole hope of the widow and the glorious loadstar of the poor dog, was bare! Had there been a leg of mutton, a loin of lamb, a fillet of veal, even an ice from Gunter's, the case would have been different, the incident would have been otherwise.

But it was bare, my brethren, bare as a bald head, bare as an infant born without a caul.

Many of you will probably say, with all the pride of worldly sophistry, The widow, no doubt, went out, and bought a dog-biscuit.

Ah, no! Far removed from these earthly ideas, these mundane desires, poor Mother Hubbard, the widow, whom many thoughtless worldlings would despise, in that she only owned one cupboard, perceived-or I might even say, saw-at once the relentless logic of the situation, and yielded to it with all the heroism of that nature which had enabled her without deviation to reach the barren cupboard.

She did not attempt, like the stiff-necked scoffers of this generation, to war against the inevitable; she did not try, like the so-called men of science, to explain what she did not understand.

none!"

She did nothing. "The poor dog had none !" And then, at this point, our information ceases. But do we not know sufficient? Are we not cognizant of enough?

Who would dare to pierce the veil that shrouds the ulterior fate of old Mother Hubbard, the poor dog, the cupboard, or the bone that was not there ?

Must we imagine her still standing at the open cupboard door-depict to ourselves the dog still drooping his disappointed tail upon the floorthe 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 oh! 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."

Portsmouth (Eng.) Monitor.

TEDDY'S SIX BULLS.

A MERRY evening party in an English country town were bantering poor Teddy O'Toole, the Irishman, about his countrymen being so famous for bulls.

"By my faith," said Teddy, "you needn't talk about that same in this place: you're as fond of bulls as any people in all the world, so you are." "Nonsense!" some of the party replied; "how do you make that out?"

"Why, sure, it's very aisy, it is; for in this paltry bit of a town you've got more public houses nor I ever seen wid the sign of the bull over the doors, so you have," said Teddy.

"Nay, Teddy, very few of those; but there's some of 'em, you know, in every town."

"Yes," said Teddy, obstinately sticking to his text, for he had laid a trap for his friends; "but you've more nor your share, barring that you're so fond of bulls, as I say. I'm sure I can count half a dozen of 'em."

"Pooh, nonsense!" cried the party: "that will never do. What'll you bet on that, Teddy? You're out there, my boy, depend upon it: we know the town as well as you; and what will you bet ?"

66

'Indeed, my brave boys, I'll not bet at all. I'm no better, I assure ye: I should be worse, if I wur." This sally tickled his companions, and he proceeded: "But I'll be bound to name and count the six.'

"Well, do, do," said several voices.

66

'Now, let me see; there's the Black Bull." "Yes, that's one.

"Then, there's the Red Bull."

"That's two."

"And the White Bull."

"Come, that's three."

"And the Pied Bull."

"So there is; you'll not go much farther.' "And then there's-there's-there's the Golden Bull, in-what's it street?"

“Well done, Teddy; there's five, sure enough ; but you're short yet."

'Ay," said the little letter-carrier, who sat smirking in the corner, "and he will be short; for there isn't one more, I know."

"And then, remember," continued Teddy, carefully pursuing his enumeration, "there's the Dun Cow."

At this a burst of laughter fairly shook the room, and busy hands kept the tables and glasses rattling, amidst boisterous cries of,

"A bull! a bull!"

Looking seriously at all around, Teddy deliberately asked,

"Do you call that a bull ?"

"To be sure, it's a bull," exclaimed several voices at once.

"Then," said Teddy, "that's the sixth."

A RAILWAY MATINEE.

THE last time I ran home over the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy we had a very small, but select and entertaining party on the train. It was a warm day, and everybody was tired with the long ride and oppressed by the heat. The prehe cise woman, with her hat swathed in mind, ng blue veil, who always parsed her sentences before she uttered them, utterly worn out and thoroughly lonesome, was glad to respond to the pleasant nod of the big rough man who got on at Monmouth, and didn't know enough grammar to ask for the mustard so that you could tell whether he wanted you to pass it to him or pour it on his hair. The thin, troubled-looking man with the sandy goatee, who stammered so dreadfully that he always forgot what he wanted to say before he got through wrestling with any word with a "W" in it, lit up with a tremulous, hesitating smile, as he noticed this indication of sociability, for, like most men who find it extremely difficult to talk at all, he wanted to talk all the time. And the fat old gentleman sitting opposite him,