had often
heard of me and of my _widdles_. Tho you thee I'm getting quite
a weputathun that way. The other morning, at Mutton's, she wath
ch-chaffing me again, and begging me to tell her the latetht thing
in widdles. Now, I hadn't heard any mythelf for thome time, tho I
couldn't give her any _vewy_ great novelty, but a fwiend of mine made
one latht theason which I thought wather neat, tho I athked her, When
ith a jar not a jar? Thingularly enough, the moment she heard thith
widdle she burtht out laughing behind her pocket-handkerchief!

"Good gwacious! what'th the matter?" said I. "Have you ever heard it
before?"

"Never," she said emphatically, "in that form; do, _please_ tell me
the answer."

So I told her,--When it ith a door! Upon which she--she went off again
in hystewics. I--I--I never _did_ see such a girl for laughing. I know
it's a good widdle, but I didn't think it would have such an effect as
_that_.

By the way, Sloper told me afterwards that he thought _he_ had heard
the widdle before, somewhere, but it was put in a different way. He
said it was: When ith a door not a door?--and the answer, When it ith
ajar!

I--I've been thinking over the matter lately, and though I dare thay
it--d-don't much matter which way the question is put, still--pwaps
the last f-form is the betht. It--it seems to me to _wead_ better.
What do you think?

Now I weckomember, I made thuch a jolly widdle the other day on the
Ethplanade. I thaw a fellah with a big New--Newfoundland dog, and he
inthpired me--the dog, you know, not the fellah,--he wath a lunatic.
I'm keeping the widdle, but I don't mind telling _you_.

Why does a dog waggle hith tail? Give it up? I think motht fellahs
will give that up!

You thee, the dog waggles hith tail becauth the dog's stwonger than
the tail. If he wath n't, the tail would waggle the dog!

Ye-th,--that 'th what I call a widdle. If I can only wecollect him, I
thall athtonish those two girls thome of these days.

THE VOICES AT THE THRONE.

T. WESTWOOD.

A little child,
A little meek-faced, quiet village child,
Sat singing by her cottage door at eve
A low, sweet sabbath song. No human ear
Caught the faint melody,--no human eye
Beheld the upturned aspect, or the smile
That wreathed her innocent lips while they breathed
The oft-repeated burden of the hymn,
"Praise God! Praise God!"

A seraph by the throne
In full glory stood. With e