"Tigre," said Rissolle; "little man-boy, to hold de horse."

"Ah! said Arden, "seven hundred pounds a year, and a tiger !"

"Exclusive of de pâtisserie, mon colonel. I never touch dat départment; but I have de honor to recommend Jenkin, my sister's husband, for de pâtisserie, at five hundred pound and his wine. Oh, Jenkin is dog ship at dat, mon colonel."

"Oh! exclusive of pastry," said the colonel emphatically.

'Oui, mon colonel," said Rissolle.

"Which is to be contrived for five hundred pounds per annum additional. Why, sir, the rector of my parish, a clergyman and a gentleman, with an amiable wife and seven children, has but half the sum to live upon."

"Dat is hard," said Rissolle, shrugging up his shoulders.

"Hard?-it is hard, sir," said Arden; "and yet you will hear the men who pay their cooks seven hundred a year for dressing dinners get up in their places in Parliament, declaim against the exorbitant wealth of the Church of England, and tell the people that our clergy are overpaid."

"Poor clergie! Mon colonel," said the man, "I pity your clergie; but den you don't remember de science and experience dat it require to make an omelette soufflée."

"Sir!" said Arden. "Do you mean seriously

and gravely to ask me seven hundred pounds a year for your services ?"

"Oui, vraiment, mon colonel," said Rissolle, at the same moment gracefully taking snuff from a superb gold box.

"Why, sir, I can't stand this any longer," cried the irritated novice in the fashionable world. "Seven hundred pounds! Make it guineas, sir, and I'll be your cook for the rest of my life."

The noise of this annunciation, the sudden leap taken by Monsieur Rissolle, to avoid something more serious than words, which he anticipated from the irate colonel, brought Wilson into the room, who, equally terrified with his Gallic friend at the symptoms of violent anger which his master's countenance displayed, stood wondering at the animation of the scene; when Arden, whose rage at the nonchalance of Rissolle at first impeded his speech, uttered, with an emphasis not to be misunderstood,

"Good-morning, sir. Seven hundred-"

What the rest of this address might have been it is impossible to say, for before it was concluded Rissolle had left the apartment, and Wilson closed the door.

Theodore Hook.

MME. EEF.

MONSIEUR ADAM was all alone in ze garden. He have plenty for eat and plenty for drink and ees very comfortable, but he 'ave not much clothes.

Von evening he lie down on ze ground for take a nap. In ze morning he wake viz pain in his side.

He say: "Oh, mon Dieu, vat ees ze mattair, eh? Ah! ees von rib gone! I shall take un promenade in ze open air. I shall feel bettaire."

He promenade. Mme. Eef she approach. It is ze first lady zat M. Adam have ever met; it ees Mme. Eef's first entree to society. They approach each other and both are very much attract. M. Adam, he say: “Madame, shall I 'ave ze plaisair for promenade viz you?"

Mme. Eef respond, "I shall be most happy," and they valk together.

Zey promenade under un arbre; un arbre viz ze pretty appel on it; ze pretty appel viz ze red streak.

Monsieur le Serpent he sit up in ze arbre. He 'ave pretty mask all over hees face-look like elegant gentilhomme.

Madame Eef she see Monsieur le Serpent viz ze pretty mask and ze appel viz ze red streak, and she ees very much attract.

Monsieur le Serpent he say, "Madame Eef, shall I 'ave ze plaisair for peek you un appel?” Madame Eef she reach out her hand for take ze appel.

Monsieur Adam he say: "Hola! hola! voila ! Vat you do, eh? Do you not know ees prohibit? You must not touch ze appel! If you eat ze appel you shall become like un Dieu-you shall know ze good from ze evil!"

Monsieur le Serpent he take un pinch of snuff. He say: "Monsieur Adam, ees prohibit for you. If you eat ze appel you shall become like un Dieu-you shall know ze good from ze evil. But Madame Eef-Madame Eef-she cannot become more of a goddess zan she ees now." And zat finish Madame Eef.

"Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To get her poor dog a bone;

But when she got there, the cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog had none."

These beautiful words, dear friends, carry with them a solemn lesson.

I propose this evening to analyze their meaning, and to attempt to apply it, lofty as it may be, to our every-day life.

"Old Mother Hubbard, she went to the cupboard,
To get her poor dog a bone."

Mother Hubbard, you see, was old; there being no mention of others, we may presume she was alone; a widow—a friendless, old, solitary widow.

Yet, did she despair? Did she sit down and weep, or read a novel, or wring her hands? No! "she went to the cupboard." And here observe that she went to the cupboard. She did not hop, or skip, or run, or jump, or use any other peripa

tetic artifice; she solely and merely went to the cupboard.

We have seen that she was old and lonely, and we now further see that she was poor. For, mark, the words are "the cupboard."

Not "one of the cupboards," or the "righthand cupboard," or the "left-hand cupboard," or the one above, or the one below, or the one under the stair, but just the cupboard. The one little humble cupboard the poor widow possessed. And why did she go to the cupboard? Was it to bring forth golden goblets, or glittering precious stones, or costly apparel, or feasts, or any other attributes of wealth? It was to get her poor dog a bone! Not only was the widow poor, but her dog, the sole prop of her age, was poor too.

We can imagine the scene. The poor dog crouching in the corner, looking wistfully at the solitary cupboard, and the widow going to that cupboard-in hope, in expectation maybe-to open it, although we are not distinctly told that it was not half open, or ajar, to open it for that poor dog.

"But when she got there, the cupboard was bare,

And so the poor dog had none."

"When she got there!" You see, dear brethren, what perseverance is.

You see the beauty of persistence in doing right, She got there.

There were no turnings and twistings, no slip