oitering figure drew,
With naked bosom red from fight,
With ruthless fingers clutching tight
A dagger stained by murderous hue,
Till now, in one great lurch, he threw
His whole frame forward, aiming quick
A deadly, inexorable blow,
That, weakly faltering, missed its mark,
And left the assassin breathing thick,
Levelled by nerveless overthrow,
There near the Greek chief, in the dark.

Then he that saw the baffled crime,
Half careless of his life's release,
Since death must win him soon as prey,
Turned on his foe a smile sublime
With pity, and the stars of Greece
Beheld him smile, and only they.

All night the two lay side by side,
Each near to death, yet living each;
All night the grim Turk moaned and cried,
Beset with pangs of horrid thirst,
Save when his dagger crept to reach,
By wandering, ineffectual way,
The prostrate Greek he yearned to slay,
And failure stung him till he cursed.

But when soft prophecies of morn
Had wrapped the sea in wistful white,
A band of men, with faces worn,
Clomb inland past a beetling height
To find the young chief they adored,
Sought eagerly since fall of sun,
And now in ghastly change restored....
One raised a torch of ruddy shine,
And, kneeling by their leader, one
Set to his mouth a gourd of wine.

Then the young Greek, with wave of hand,
Showed the swart pagan at his side;
So, motioning to the gathered band,
That none could choose but understand,
"Let this man drink," he said, and died.

EDGAR FAWCETT.

STUDIES IN THE SLUMS.

IV.--JACK.

"I've never told the whole straight ahead, ma'am. The Lord knows it all,
an' there've been times I couldn't ha' done it, an' wouldn't ha' done it
if I could ha' helped it. For, you see, in spite of the deviltry I never
quite got rid of the sense that God sat lookin' at me, an' that, I do
suppose, came from what stuck to me, whether or no, in the school. An'
you'd wonder that anything stuck or could.

"I'll begin at the beginnin'. Drink? No, it wasn't _my_ drinkin'. You'd
think that must ha' been it, but it wasn't, for all I came up in the
Fourth Ward--the only sober bartender the ward ever see, or ever will
see, I reckon.

"The very first thing that ever I remember is my mother dead drunk on
the floor