This explained all. The Emperor had demonstrated his right to be called the Royal Bowman of the World.

A soldier now approached the twain, and, seizing the arm of each, led them some paces further away from the Emperor, where he stationed them facing each other, and with their sides to Commodus, who was preparing to shoot again.

Before drawing his bow, he cried aloud," Behold, Commodus will pierce the centre of the ear of each!"

The lovers were gazing into each other's eyes still as statues, as if frozen by the cold fascination of death, Commodus drew his bow with tremendous power, fetching the cord back to his breast, where for a moment it was held without the faintest quiver of a muscle. His eyes were fixed and cold as steel.

The arrow fairly shrieked through the air, so swift was its flight.

The girl, filled with ineffable pain, flung up her white arms, the rent thongs flying away in the paroxysms of her final struggle. The arrow struck in the sand beyond. Something like a divine smile flashed across her face. Again the bow-string rang, and the arrow leaped away to its thrilling work. What a surge the youth made! The cord leaped from his wrists, and he clasped the falling girl in his embrace. All eyes saw the arrow hurling along the sand after its mission was done. Commodus stood like fate, leaning forward to note the perfectness of his execution. His eyes blazed with eager, heartless triumph.

"Lead them out, and set them free, and tell it everywhere that Commodus is the incomparable bowman."

And then, when all at once it was discovered that he had not hurt the lovers, but had merely cut in two with

his arrows the cords that bound their wrists, a great stir began, and out from a myriad overjoyed and admiring hearts leaped a storm of thanks, while, with the clash and bray of musical instruments, and with voices like the voice of winds and seas, and with a clapping of hands like the rending roar of tempests, the vast audience arose as one person, and applauded the Emperor. MAURICE THOMPSON.

LICENSED TO SELL; OR, LITTLE BLOSSOM.

"DEAR! I'se so tired and lonesome!
I wonder why mamma don't come;
S'e told me to s'ut up my blue eyes,
And 'fore I waked up s'e'd be home.

"S'e said s'e was going to see g'amma;
S'e lives by the river so bright;
I spect that my mamma fell in there,
And p'a'aps s'e won't tum home to-night.

"I dess I'm afraid to stay up here,
Wivout any fire or light;

But Dod's lighted the lamps up in heaven,
I see 'em, all twinkling and bright.

"I fink I'll go down and meet papa,

I s'pose he has stopped at the store;
It's a great, pitty store, full of bottles,—
Wish he wouldn't go there any more.

"Sometimes he is sick when he comes home,
And he stumbles and falls up the stair;
And once, when he comed in the parlor,
He kicked at my poor little chair.

“And mamma was all pale and frightened,
And hugged me up close to her breast,
And called me her poor little Blossom,
And-dess I've forgotten the rest.

"But I 'member that papa was angry,
His face was so red and so wild,
And I 'member he striked at poor mamma,
And hurted his poor little child.

"But I love him, and dess I do find him;
P'r'aps he'll come home with me soon,
And den it won't be dark and lonely,
Waiting for mamma to come."

Out into the night went the baby,
The dear little Blossom so fair,
With eyes that were blue as the morning,
And halo of golden-brown hair.

Out into the night went the baby,

Her little heart beating with fright, Till the tired feet reached the gin-palace, All radiant with music and light.

The little hand pushed the door open

(Though her touch was as light as a breath),

The little feet entered the portal

That leads but to ruin and death.

Away down the long floor she pattered,
The pretty blue eyes open wide,
Till she spied in a corner her papa,

And the tiny feet paused at his side.

"O papa!" she cried, as she reached him,

And her voice rippled out sweet and clear, "I thought if I comed I would find you, And I is so glad I is here.

"The lights are so pitty, dear papa,

And I fink that the music's so sweet; But I dess it's most supper-time, papa, For Blossom wants something to eat."

A moment the bleared eyes gazed wildly
Down into the face sweet and fair,
And then as the demon possessed him,
He grasped at the back of a chair.

A moment- -a second-'twas over,
The work of the fiend was complete,
And the poor little innocent Blossom
Lay quivering and crushed at his feet.

Then, swift as the light, came his reason,

And showed him the deed he had done; With a groan that the devil might pity, He knelt by the quivering form.

He pressed the pale face to his bosom,
He lifted the fair, golden head;

A moment the baby-lip trembled,
And poor little Blossom was dead.

Then in came the law so majestic,
And said with his life he must pay,-
That only a fiend or a madman

Could have murdered a child in that way.

But the man who had sold him the poison
That had made him a demon of hell,
Why, he should be loved and respected,
Because he was "licensed" to sell.

He

may

rob

you

of friends and of money,
Send you to perdition and woe,
But so long as he pays for his license,
The law must protect him, you know.

God pity the women and children

Who are under the Juggernaut Rum,
And hasten the day when against it

Neither heart, voice, nor pen shall be dumb.

MARGARET J. BIDWELL.

WH

ODE ON THE PASSIONS.

WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,

The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,—
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting.
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,