end of the barn.

She looks quite as charming as

in life, and twice as agreeable!"

"Yes," grunted the Pig; "I don't think a single creature regrets her. What with her dreadful mischief-making, and her sad thievish propensities, no one could cordially like her; and now no one can regret her shameful death. Such is the consequence of a life spent in speaking ill of, and doing injury to, others!"

THE HISTORY OF A HASSOCK.

It was the breakfast-room, and a pretty, cheerful little room it was. It opened by a nice long window on to a pleasant lawn, where there was a bed of moss roses and mignonette, that sent their sweet breath as a morning welcome into the room, directly the housemaid took down the shutters and threw up the sash. The inhabitants of the room were very sociable as times went, for they had been long in company. First in rank, at least in his own opinion, was the Round Table in the middle,-he considered himself a prince, because he had a great space all to himself in the centre of the room. The Chairs were his Lords-in-Waiting, because they only were privileged to draw near him on special occasions. The Sofa still prided herself on her better days, when she had stood in her glory in the drawing-room. The Ottoman was formerly a resident in the best spare bed-room, and was a little looked down upon. The Cheffonier was bran new, and still wore a very unpleasant smell of new

wood and oil about him. He was rather pompous and consequential, and squeaked loudly whenever his doors were opened. In fact, there was a feud between him and the older residents. He prided himself on the fresh gloss of his new polish, just out of the maker's hands, while they looked down on him as an interloper and a new-comer, who, moreover, could not date his descent as they could from the drawing-room. They considered themselves, although decayed in prosperity and feeling the approach of age, as the genuine old aristocracy. Now the Cheffonier was vulgar, and gave himself airs, and was taken a great deal more notice of, having double the amount of rubbing and furniturepolish allowed to the rest of the room.

Indeed, the Bell-rope, who was an awful tattler and mischief-maker, overheard the housemaid say that "it was a pleasure to clean the Cheffonier, because you could see your face in him, and he repaid the pains you took with him; but the rest of the furniture was such dull old rubbish that you might just as well leave them alone as touch them, for they never showed the difference!"

Now, the Bell-rope dinned this into all their ears, and the old families, who prided themselves on their rich antique dulness and dimness as a mark of respectability, felt dreadfully hurt, but