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 And the next thing he knew he was going down a pig's throat, the very piggy wig he met so long ago.

Snip, snap, snout, This tale's out: The pig has him now, And it's his turn to shout.

—

A HORSE'S STORY

Here is a story told by Black Beauty, as pretty a little horse as ever wore a white star on his forehead.

One day late in the autumn my master had a long journey to go on business. I was put to the dog-*cart, and John, the coachman, drove. There had been a great deal of rain, and now the wind was very high and blew the dry leaves across the road in a shower. We went along merrily till we came to the toll-bar and the low wooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, instead of rising, went across just level, so that in the middle, if the river was full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks. But as there were good, substantial rails on each side, people did not mind it.

The man at the gate said the river was rising fast,