"These beautiful words, dear friends, carry with them 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.

"Mother Hubbard, you see, was old; there being no mention of others, we may presume that she was alonea widow, a friendless, solitary old 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 went to the cupboard. She did not hop, or skip, or run, or jump, or use any other peripatetic artifice; she solely and merely went to the cupboard. We have seen that she was old and lonely, and we now further see she was poor. For, mark, the words are, the cupboard,' not "one of the cupboards,' or 'the right-hand cupboard,' or 'the left-hand cupboard,' or 'the one above,' or 'the one below,' or 'the one under the floor,' but just 'the cupboard,' the one humble little cupboard the 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 to 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 also. 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, may-be, to open it, although we are not distinctly told that it was not halfopen 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

There were no turnings slidings, no leaning to the With glorious simplicity And how was her noble

doing right. She got there. and twistings, no slippings and right or faltering to the left. we are told she got there.' effort rewarded? 'The cupboard was bare.' It was bare! There were to be found neither apples nor oranges, nor cheese-cakes, nor penny buns, nor gingerbread, nor crackers, nor nuts, nor lucifer matches. The cupboard 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 very different, the incident would have been otherwise. But it was bare, my brethren-bare as a bald head. 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. 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, her poor dog, the cupboard, or the bone that was not there? Must we imagine her still standing by the open cupboard door, depict to ourselves the dog, still drooping his disappointed tail on the floor, the sought-for

bone remaining somewhere else? Ah, no! my brethren, we are not so permitted to try and read the future. Suffice it for us to try and 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, and 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. They are fond of bones. But, brethren, if we do; if fate has ordained we should do anything 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.""

THE SAVING MISSION OF INFANCY.

"And a little child shall lead them."

THE mail has just brought me my letters—a baker's

dozen or more

And I find myself laughing and crying while reading them quietly o'er:

Some are from friends not far distant, others from far,

far away,

Yet they all contain the same message, though told in a different way.

Number one's from a fond, loving sister, beginning, "My dear sister Hat:

We have a most beautiful baby, a sweet little daughter, at that;

And all that have ever beheld her, declare she'll mature good and true,

For her dear little presence looks holy, out of eyes of celestial blue;

"And husband and I are more trusting, more inclined to look up from the sod,

More willing to trust in the mercy and dwell on the goodness of God;

And although we always have loved Him in a kind of general way,

Yet now for each specified mercy we rejoice and give thanks every day.”

Number two 's from a votary of fashion: "My dear Mrs. H.," it begins,

"Why is it that God is so gracious, forgiving our manifold sins?

For, in spite of all our transgressions, and all the wrongs we have done,

He has given us a dear, precious baby, a sweet, a dear

little son.

"I am very much changed since you saw me, and husband's by no means the same;

Not a change in looks, but in feelings, since our darling, our little one, came;

You know we were thoughtless and giddy, for pleasure were ever in search,

But now we've had the babe christened, we're going to

unite with the church;

"Not to try and hoodwink Jehovah, or bribe Him that

baby may stay,

Or think we can curry His favor to keep dreaded death far away,

But because we love and adore Him: and if baby should leave us to-night,

Hand-in-hand, though in tears, we would follow to the world of celestial light."

Number three's from a crusty old bachelor, or was se before he was wed

Voted children a pestilent nuisance, and wished the whole tribe of them dead;

Wondered why Nature brought them so helpless, why not as well fully grown,

And vowed, should he ever get married, he'd never have one of his own.

But one day a dear little creature was laid on his strong manly breast,

And, instead of repulsion and anger, he tried to hush it to rest;

And a postscript from Annie informs me, "Tom thinks the baby divine,

And for it has changed his old habits, and given up horses and wine.

'And each morning he reads me a lecture on the value of motherly love

Says 't was given to guide helpless childhood to the loving Father above.

When it worries he tries hard to soothe it with a prayer that is half lullaby:

'God keep thee, my darling,' he murmurs, while the ser vants laugh and look sly."