"When I was startled by a noise, and, turning towards that

door,

Saw standing there a 'mister man' behind a 'forty-four.' 'Up with them quick!' was all he said, and up they went, you bet;

'And next,' said he, 'I want them keys.' My friend, I hear him yet.

The keys,' I said, 'you'll never get as long as I'm alive.'
I noticed that the clock above showed 'leven fifty-five.

"Said he, a-speaking slowly, 'I'd hate to bore you through, But if you don't give up at once that's what I'll have to do; I'll give you sixty seconds, exactly sixty ticks

Of that old clock above your head, now 'leven fifty-six.'

"I felt my heart a-keeping time to each tick of the clock, A-beating there my funeral knell, and every tick a shock. Thoughts of home and wife and child went flitting through my head, For I could see the scoundrel, sir, meant every word he said. "Just as I'd given up allhope, four shrieks, that would have woke

Just anything that ever died, upon the still air broke.

The clock showed 'leven fifty-seven. Jim Carson he was there,

A-shrieking for the white, sir, and it saved me by a hair.

"The scoundrel turned a deathly pale, the gun it hit the floor. I grabbed it, struck him o'er the head with his big 'fortyfour.'

I pulled the rope and showed the white; Jim Carson sailed on through;

That whistle, sir, had saved my life. That's all; your train is due."

THE TWIN BALLOTS.

Along in November, when chill was the weather,
Two ballots were cast in a box together.
They nestled up close like brother to brother;
You couldn't tell one of the votes from the other.

The Sunday-school man-no man could be truer-
Kept busy all summer denouncing the brewer;

But his fervor cooled off with the change of the weather
And late in the autumn they voted together.

The Sunday-school man had always been noted
For fighting saloons-except when he voted.
He piled up his prayers, with a holy perfection,
And knocked them all down on the day of election.

The cunning old brewer was cheerful and mellow;
Said he, "I admire that Sunday-school fellow;
He's true to his church, to his party he's truer,
He talks for the Lord, but he votes for the brewer.

They were both rum votes,

And sanctioned the license plan;

But one was cast by a cunning old brewer,
And one by a Sunday-School man.

IVAN THE CZAR.-FELICIA HEMANS.

Ivan, surnamed the Terrible, was the first Russian sovereign to be crowned as Czar, and, though a relentless despot, the vastness and splendor of his achievments entitle him to be regarded as the founder of the Russian Empire. His hand fell with merciless cruelty on the boyars (noblemen) of his kingdom, and upon some of his towns, notably Novgorod where sixty thousand people were slain in six weeks.

His boyars, perceiving his incapacity, entreated him to give the command to his son. He was so enraged at this request that, although his son threw himself at his feet, he struck him with such force that he died in two days. Ivan survived him only three years, dying in 1584.

He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar,

Lonely, though princes girt him round

And leaders of the war;

He had cast his jeweled sabre,

That many a field had won,

To the earth beside his youthful dear
His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed
Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed
Through the rich tent made way;

And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched
In the dust with his renown.

Low tones, at last, of woe and fear,
From his full bosom broke-

A mournful thing it was to hear
How then the proud man spoke !
The voice that through the combat
Had shouted far and high,

Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,
Burdened with agony:

"There is no crimson on thy cheek,

And on thy lip no breath;

I call thee, and thou dost not speak-
They tell me this is death!

And fearful things are whispering
That I the deed have done-
For the honor of thy father's name,
Look up, look up, my son!

"Well might I know death's hue and mien! But on thine aspect, boy,

What, till this moment. have I seen

Save pride and tameless joy? Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all

How could I think a warrior's frame
Thus like a flower should fall?

"I will not bear that still, cold look-
Rise up, thou fierce and free!

Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook
All, save this calm from thee!

Lift brightly up, and proudly,
Once more thy kindling eyes!

Hath my word lost its power on earth?
I say to thee, arise !

"Didst thou not know I loved thee well?
Thou didst not! and art gone,
In bitterness of soul, to dwell
Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit!
If but one hour, to learn
The secrets of the folded heart

That seemed to thee so stern.

"Thou wert the first, the first fair child That in mine arms I pressed:

Thou wert the bright one, that hast smiled Like summer on my breast!

I reared thee as an eagle,

To the chase thy steps I led,
1 bore thee on my battle-horse,
I look upon thee - dead!

"Lay down my warlike banners here,
Never again to wave,

And bury my red sword and spear,
Chiefs, in my first-born's grave!
And leave me,-I have conquered,
I have slain my work is done!
Whom have I slain? Ye answer not-
Thou, too, art mute, my son!"

And thus his wild laurent was poured
Through the dark resounding night,
And the battle knew no more his sword,
Nor the foaming steed his might.

He heard strange voices moaning

In every wind that sighed ;

From the searching stars of heaven he shrank-,
Humbly the conqueror died.

MRS. MCSHANE'S SHOPPING EXPEDITION.* S. JENNIE SMITH.

town.

Mrs. McShane decided one day last week that hereafter she would do her shopping in the big stores down She lived in the upper part of the city and had always dealt with the small stores in her own neighborhood, but now that Mike had got to be boss of the gang instead of a common street-cleaner, she felt in duty bound to "put on shtoyle wid the rist av the leddies."

"It's well for yez that kin driss in yer togs and be art galivantin' in the marnin'," was the greeting she received from her next-door neighbor, Mrs. O' Reagan. as she started out of the house about eleven o'clock on the day of her first shopping expedition down town.

*Written expressly for this Collection. "Mrs. Murphy's Recipe for cake," 'Aunt Maria at the Eden Musee," "Mrs. O'Toole and the conductor." and other original humorous recitations, by the same, author, will be found in the 100 Choice Selections," Series.

"It's arnymints Oi wants for the mantel-pace," she said with the air of one who was accustomed to buying at the big stores," and Oi belave Oi kin git what Oi nado down to Lacy's in Grand Strate. Oi'll jist rin down there.

"Sure Bayley ferninst us here has arnyments widout yer goin' to the foot ind av the city. He has the grinninest chiny naygers that same to be shpakin' roight in yer face."

"Oi'm not dalin' wid the O'Reagan, if yer plaze, ma'am:

shmall shtores, Mrs. Oi wants to go where

they have thim in plinty so as Oi kin have a chice. And as for haythen chiny naygers, Oi wudn't have 'em in the house."

'Shtiff as a biled shirt bosom," was Mrs. O'Reagan's mental comment as her neighbor with head held erect marched off toward the car.

Five hours later Mrs. Mc Shane stood once more on her There was no stiffness about her own street corner. manner now, and she looked like a woman who has had an experience that makes her distrustful of her kind. Her hat was crooked, her duck suit was wrinkled, and dust had mingled with perspiration to give her face the mottled appearance that it wore. Just before she reached her own house she again met Mrs. O' Reagan.

"And did yez git the arnyments?" that person inquired with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"Don't tark to me about arnymints," Mrs. Mc Shane answered, almost savagely; "Oi'm that tired yer cud knock me down wid two shtraws."

66

Whativer happened yer, Oi don' know."

"Faith and yer niver wud know'unliss yer tried it yersilf. Don't say a wurrud to me about the big shtores. If yer've a moind for travellin' thim's where yer want to go. Wud yer belave it, Mrs. O'Reagan, they sint me from wan county to another until Oi was intirely bate out, and arl for teeny arnyments. Whin Oi asked for the arnyments, Down in the basement,' says they,