Part Thirtieth.

Each of the Four Numbers of

"100 Choice Selections" contained in this volume is paged separately, and the Index is made to correspond therewith. See EXPLANATION on first page of Contents.

The entire book contains nearly

1000 pages.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 30.

THE MAN FOR THE HOUR.-A. R. ROBINSON

Tradition says that when of old
Great Cadmus needed men,

He sowed upon the new-turned mould
The dragon's teeth, and then

Uprose a host with arms belight,
Prepared to strive in instant fight.

All day the doubtful contest raged
With spear and bow and shield;
And when war had his thirst assuaged,
There stood upon the field

A chosen few, who built the walls
Of Thebes, and graced her civic halls.

And still, if unto earth there come
A call for earnest men,

There is no need of trump or drum
To rouse them up, for then
The cold clods quickly stir with life,
And men are born for instant strife.

For, as the ages come and go,

The leaders of the van
Are proof that this is ever so-
The hour begets the man;
He's Nature's heir, and he alone
Has right and title to her throne.

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 ail 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 make
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-