tropolis of Swat.
He sees with larger, other eyes,
Athwart all earthly mysteries--
He knows what's Swat.

Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With a noise of mourning and of lamentation!
Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond
With the noise of the mourning of the
Swattish nation!

Fallen is at length
Its tower of strength,
Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned;
Dead lies the great Ahkoond,
The great Ahkoond of Swat
Is not!

THE CONSCIENTIOUS CURATE AND THE BEAUTEOUS BALLET GIRL

BY WILLIAM RUSSELL ROSE

Young William was a curate good,
Who to himself did say:
"I cawn't denounce the stage as vile
Until I've seen a play."

He was so con-sci-en-ti-ous
That, when the play he sought,
To grasp its entire wickedness
A front row seat he bought.

_'Twas in the burlesque, you know, the burlesque of "Prince Prettypate,
or the Fairy Muffin Ring," and when the ballet came on, that good young
curate met his fate. She, too, was in the front row, and--_

She danced like this, she danced like that,
Her feet seemed everywhere;
They scarcely touched the floor at all
But twinkled in the air.

She _entrechat_, her fairy _pas_
Filled William with delight;
She whirled around, his heart did bound--
'Twas true love at first sight.

He sought her out and married her;
Of course, she left the stage,
And in his daily parish work
With William did engage.

She helped him in his parish school,
Where ragged urchins go,
And all the places on the map
She'd point out with her toe.

_And when William gently remonstrated with her, she only said: "William,
when I married you I gave you my hand--my feet are still my own."_

She'd point like this, she'd point like that,
The scholars she'd entrance--
"This, children, is America;
And this, you see, is France.

"A highland here, an island there,
'Round which the waters roll;
And this is Pa-ta-go-ni-ah,
And this is the frozen Pole."

Young William's bishop called one day,
But found the curate out,
And so he told the curate's wife
What he had come about

"Your merit William oft to me
Most highly doth extol;
I trust, my dear, you always try
To elevate the soul."

_Then William's wife made the bishop a neat little curtsey, and gently
said: "Oh, yes, your Grace, I always do--in my own peculiar way."_

She da