Part Thirtieth.

Not wealth, nor yet a long descent
Through many a famous line,
Can give this power to mankind lent
From Nature's hand divine,

For with the call there comes the might
Of those who teach, or preach, or fight.

"SWORE OFF."-JOHN N. FORT.

By permission of the Author.

boys, take another! To-night we'll be gay
For to-morrow, you know, is the New Year's day,
And I promised my Bessie to-night should be
The very last night I stayed on this spree.
I've been a good fellow-spent lots of “tin”
In sampling and drinking both whisky and gin;
And yet I remember, a long while ago,

When the sight of a drunken man frightened me so
I ran for a square. I remember quite well

When I even detested the very smell

Of the accursed stuff. I sometimes think

'Twas the devil who tempted me take the first drink, But why look back with remorse or regret?

I mustn't remember-I want to forget.

Landlord, the bottle! That's pretty good stuff:
Though I reckon I've seen and tasted enough.
It's a year since I've drawn a sober breath;
The doctors all say I will go to my death
If I do not leave off-you may laugh and scoff,
But somehow or other, between me and you,
I believe what the doctors tell me is true;
For at night when I try to be closing my eyes
Such horrible visions before me rise

That I cannot rest, and I walk the floor
And long for the sleep that is mine no more.
To-night it winds up. Laugh on, but you'll see
That this is the very last night of my spree;
I've promised my Bessie, and, further, I swore-
She's got the paper-to taste it no more
After to-night. When I told her I'd sign,

The look on her face made me think of the time
When she stood at the altar a beautiful bride
And I looked on my choice with a good deal of pride.
Ah, many's the time since I've been on this spree,
I've seen this good woman get down on her knee

And ask God in his goodness have mercy on me.
To-night it ends up. Do you hear what I say?
I'm a man once again from the New Year's day.
Take one with you? Why I certainly will-
To-night is my last and I'll be drinking my fill.
"Good luck and good health!"-strange wishes we maka
O'er each glass of whisky and gin that we take.
Good luck! Well now, fellows, be still and we'll see
The good luck I've had since I started this spree;
What with losing the job where I first learned my trade,
I've had twenty jobs since, and I'm much afraid
The reason for losing them all is this glass;
This story of shame and disgrace let us pass—
I'll sum up the whole. You all know it's true
I could own a nice home-now the rent's overdue,
Yet, during this time-it is true, what I say—
I wished myself luck at least ten times a day.
And as for good health! Now do you think it right,
When you know it's destroying your appetite,
To call it good health? Why, I've not tasted food
For days at a time. Do you call my health good?
One with the landlord? To be sure, ev'ry time-
His till has held many a dollar of mine.
Come! set up the poison! To-night is the last,
Then I'll look upon rum as a thing of the past;
Well, here's to you, land-ah, you'd play me a trick!
Take off that red wig with the horns very quick,
Or I'll put down this glass and be leaving the place;
Boys, look at the way he's distorting his face!
Look! look! It's the devil, a good masquerade
For those who engage in the rumselling trade;
Go on with the game!—you'll find I'm not afraid,
Ha, ha, ha, ha! at your by-play I scoff-

Whose blood-hound is this? Keep him off! keep him off!
Get out, you big brute! Don't you fellows see

He's wicked? will bite? that he's snapping at me?
My God! see his fangs! all reeking with gore-
Help! landlord, help! fell this brute to the floor-
Ah, he's gone!-Take another! my nerves are unstrung,
Quick! Give me the bottle ere the midnight is rung;
Ah, whisky's the stuff that will make me feel gay
And I've said I've sworn off from the New Year's Day-
Quick! give me the bottle! curse you! don't refuse,
Or I'll pull you apart, if my temper I lose-

Now give me a glass! Come, boys, take a drink!
It's the last you'll be taking with me, so I think-
Oh, God! what is this? See, boys,-it's a snake!
Look! the bottle is full-hear the hissing they make-
They crawl from its neck. For God's sake-a drink!
Thanks! Boys, here's luck! (Midnight hour strikes.)

'Tis the New Year, I think.

My oath-yes my oath! Is this sound I hear
The hour of midnight? Aye, it is the New Year.

(Throws glass from him.)

Begone from my sight, thou demon of hell!
Boys,-here they come! there they go! Ah, the spell
Is o'er. I'm afire! See! It shoots from my eyes!
I am burning within! There the red demon lies.
What angel is this? "Tis my Bessie, to see

If my word has been kept about ending this spree-
No, no, it is black! 'Tis the devil's device,

He's claiming a soul as a sacrifice;

Great God! Is this death? The bloodhound again!
Take him off! Take him off! Do I call you in vain?
He clutches my throat-he chokes out my life!
Wont some of you fellows go after my wife?
Must I die here alone? See! they beckon to me-
Oh, if Bessie, my heart-broken wife, could but see
That I kept to my word. Wont-you-kindly-say
I"swore off" for good on the New Year's day.

THE SIGNING OF MAGNA CHARTA.
JEROME K. JEROME.

In Three Men in a Boat," from which the following extract is taken, the author details the experiences of himself and two companions during a vacation Among the places of interest at which they trip upon the river Thames. stopped was the famous meadow of Runnymede, where, on June 15, 1215, tho barons compelled the infamous King John to sign the great charter of English liberty. The author says:-"It was as lovely a morning as one could desire. Little was in sight to remind us of the nineteeth century; and, as we looked out upon the river in the morning sunlight, we could almost fancy that the centuries between us and that ever-to-be-famous June morning of 1215 had been drawn aside, and that we, English yeoman's sons in homespun cloth, with dirh at belt, were waiting there to witness the writing of that stupendous page of history, the meaning whereof was to be translated to the common people some four hundred and odd years later by one Oliver Cromwell, who had deeply studied it."

It is a fine summer morning, sunny, soft, and still. But through the air there runs a thrill of coming stir.

King John has slept at Duncroft Hall, and all the day before the little town of Staines has echoed to the clang of armed men, and the clatter of great horses over its rough stones, and the shouts of captains, and the grim oaths and surly jests of bearded bowman, billmen, pikemen, and strange-speaking foreign spearmen.

Gay-cloaked companions of knights and squires have ridden in, all travel-stained and dusty. And all the evening long the timid townsmen's doors have had to be quick opened to let in rough groups of soldiers, for whom there must be found both board and lodging, and the best of both, or woe betide the house and all within; for the sword is judge and jury, plaintiff and executioner, in these tempestuous times, and pays for what it takes by sparing those from whom it takes it, if it pleases it to do so.

Round the camp-fire in the market-place gather still more of the Barons' troops, and eat and drink deep, and bellow forth roystering drinking songs, an 1 gamble and quarrel as the evening grows and deepens into night. The firelight sheds quaint shadows on their piled-up arms and on their uncouth forms. The children of the town steal round to watch them, wondering; and brawny country wenches, laughing, draw near to bandy ale-house jest and jibe with the swaggering troopers, so unlike the village swains, who, now despised, stand apart behind, with vacant grins upon their broad, peering faces. And out from the fields around, glitter the faint lights of more distant camps, as here some great lord's followers lie mustered, and there false John's French mercenaries hover like crouching wolves without the town.

And so, with sentinel in each dark street, and twink、 ling watch-fires on each height around, the night has worn away, and over this fair valley of old Thame has broken the morning of the great day that is to close so big with the fate of ages yet unborn.

Ever since gray dawn, in the lower of the two islands just above where we are standing, there has been great