jacket. Look in the glass at your fat figure and rosy checks. Are you
not well fed and well taken care of? Is not good health better than fine
clothes? Are you the one to complain?

Ah, Frank! Just look at poor Tim Morris, as he goes by in his carriage.
See his fine rich clothes, and his new glossy hat. But see, too, how
pale and thin he looks. How gladly would he put on your patched jacket,
and give you his new one, if he could have your health!

[Illustration: Saturday Night]

Whack, whack, whack! I'm an ungrateful boy. I'll not complain again.
Christmas may be as long as it pleases in coming. I'll tell mother she
mustn't pinch herself to buy me a new jacket. I'll tell her this one
will serve me a long time yet; that I have got used to it, and like it.
It will look almost as good as new when I get the dust out of it. Whack,
whack, whack!

UNCLE CHARLES.




THE CUCKOO.


"Tell me what bird this is a picture of," said Arthur.

"That," said Uncle Oscar, "is the cuckoo, a bird which arrives in
England, generally, about the middle of April, and departs late in June,