THE SAD EXPERIENCE OF POOR
POMPOSITY.

Cee Gurrrvy! Gurrrrry! What am I
growling at? Do you see the small white
dog in that picture opposite—'tis at him I growl,
and I will tell you why. My Master is an
artist. One day he decided to paint me. Of
course you have noticed what a fine dog I am?
Have I not the brightest eyes, the silkiest hair,
the waggiest tail you ever saw? And can’t you
almost see the blue blood through my delicate
skin? My Master and Mistress admire me very
much, and he wished naturally to paint a picture
of me. Somewhere in the background he also
put my mistress, an excellent foil to me. A few
weeks ago Master put the finishing touches to the
picture, completing the very tip of one of my

beautiful ears. <‘‘ There,” said he to Mistress, in
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