He was a dog of high repute. But now he'll be for ever mute. --Though living he gave little tongue-- Ah, well! the dogs we love die young. MASTER M'GRATH, old Ireland's pride, The fleetest Saxon dogs defied, Alike to run with him or kill: His legs, once limber, now are still. This peerless paragon of hounds, Did win his good lord--LURGAN--pounds By thousands; dog as good as horse-- The canine Courser is a corpse. He was presented to the QUEEN, As many a puppy may have been, Who yet that honour lives to boast-- But is not worth the dog that's lost. M'GRATH returns to his Dam Earth. The papers mostly to his worth Publish a tribute, not too long, A paragraph--and here's a song. They won't continue, for a week, Each day about M'GRATH to speak In memoirs, and in leading columns, To preach of prosy sermons volumes. Upon the Dog defunct that lies Briefest is best to moralise, As every dog, then, let us say, Must have, M'GRATH has had his day. * * * * * Happy Dispatch. WE have just read in a delightful book that "Japanese verse is for the most part lyric or descriptive." It is of two kinds, "Uta," of purely native growth, and "Shi," of Chinese origin and structure. The difference between the Japanese and the English is that nearly all the modern poetry of the latter is Shi. * * * * * RAILWAY REFORM. AT a meeting of Railway Directors, which will probably be held in the middle of next week, it will be resolved, in order to increase the safety of the public, that no pointsman, guard, or engine-driver, shall ever be on duty much more than six-and-forty hours at a stretch; and that every such servant shall always, when on duty, be allowed at least four minutes, no less than three times daily, for enjoyment of his meals. With the like view of security, it will also be resolved that porters shall on branch lines be required to act as pointsmen, signalmen, and ticket-clerks, and that due and timely notice of the changes in the time-bills shall on no account be furnished to the drivers of goods trains. * * * * * To the Afflicted. A WORD of comforting advice to all those--and they are many--both men and women, who are nursing a secret sorrow, grieving that they are short, small of stature, below the average size. Let them think of those more than consolatory words, in that famous passage in _Henry the Eighth_, where SHAKSPEARE speaks of--"the blessedness of being little." * * * * * [Illustration: EASILY SOLD.] SCENE--_Railway Station in a Town where Highland Regiment is quartered. Foxhunters taking Train for the Meet._ _Little London Gent._ "HE AIN'T GOING OUT HUNTING, TOO, IS HE?" _Funny Friend._ "OF COURSE HE IS."