WHAT AILED "UGLY SAM."

He had been missing from the "Potomac" for several days, and Cleveland Tom, Port Huron Bill, Tall Chicago, and the rest of the boys who were wont to get drunk with him could not make out what had happened. They hadn't heard that there was a warrant out for him, had never known of his being sick for a day, and his absence from the old haunts puzzled them. They were in the Hole-in-the-Wall saloon yesterday morning, nearly a dozen of them, drinking, smoking, and playing cards, when in walked Ugly Sam.

There was a deep silence for a moment as they looked at him. Sam had a new hat, had been shaved clean, had on a clean collar and a white shirt, and they didn't know him at first. When they saw it was Ugly Sam they uttered a shout and leaped up.

"Cave in that hat!" cried one.

"Yank that collar off!" shouted another.

"Let's roll him on the floor!" screamed a third.

There was something in his look and bearing that made them hesitate. The whiskey-red had almost faded from his face, and he looked sober and dignified. His features expressed disgust and contempt as he looked around the room, and then revealed pity as his eye fell upon the red eyes and bloated faces of the crowd before him.

Why, what ails ye, Sam?" inquired Tall Chicago, as they all stood there.

"I've come down to bid you good-by, boys!" he replied, removing his hat and drawing a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"What! Hev ye turned preacher?" they shouted in rhorus.

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Boys, ye know I can lick any two of ye, but I hain't on the fight any more, and I've put down the last drop of whiskey which is ever to go into my mouth! I've switched off. I've taken an oath. I'm going to be decent!"

"Sam, be you crazy?" asked Port Huron Bill, coming nearer to him.

"I've come down here to tell you all about it," answered 8am. "Move the cha'rs back a little and give me room.

Ye all know I've been rough and more too. I've been a drinker, a fighter, a gambler, and a loafer. I can't look back and remember when I've earned an honest dollar. The police hez chased me round like a wolf, and I've been in jail and the workhouse, and the papers hez said that that Ugly Sam was the terror of the Potomac. Ye all know this, boys, but ye didn't know that I had an old mother."

The faces of the crowd expressed amazement.

"I've never mentioned it to any of ye, for I was neglecting her," he went on. "She was a poor old body, living up here in the alley, and if the neighbors hadn't helped her to fuel and food she'd have been found dead long ago. I never helped her to a cent-didn't see her for weeks and weeks, and I used to feel mean about it. When a feller goes back on his old mother he's a-gittin' purty low, and I know it. Well, she's dead-buried yesterday! I was up there afore she died. She sent for me by Pete, and when I got there I seen it was all day with her.”

"Did she say anything?" asked one of the boys, as Sam hesitated.

"That's what ails me now," he went on. "When I went in, she reached out her hand to me, and says she: 'Samuel, I'm going to die, and I know'd you'd want to see me afore passed away.' I sat down, feeling queer-like. She didn't go on and say as how I was a loafer, and had neglected her, and all that, but says she: 'Samuel, you'll be all alone when I'm gone. I've tried to be a good mother to you, and have prayed for you hundreds o' nights, and cried for you till my old heart was sore!' Some of the neighbors had dropped in, and the women were crying, and I tell you boys, I felt weak." He paused for a moment and then continued:

"And the old woman said she'd like to kiss me afore death came, and that broke me right down. She kept hold of my hand, and by-and-by she whispered: 'Samuel, you are throwing your life away. You've got it in you to be a man if you'll only make up your mind. I hate to die and to feel that my only son and the last of the family may go to the gallows. If I had your promise that you would turn over a new leaf, and try and be good, it seems as though I'd die easier. Won't you promise me, my son?' And I promised her, boys, and

that's what ails me! She died holding my hand, and I promised to quit this low business and to go to work. I came down to tell ye, and now you won't see me on the Potomac again. I've bought an axe, and am going up to Canada to winter."

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There was a dead silence for a moment, and then he said: Well, boys, I'll shake hands with ye all around afore I go. Good-by Pete-good-by, Jack-Tom-Jim. I hope ye won't fling any bricks at me, and I shan't never fling any at ye. It's a dying promise, ye see, and I'll keep it if it takes a right arm!"

The men looked relectively at one another after he had passed out, and it was a long time before any one spoke. Then Tall Chicago flung his clay pipe into a corner and said: I'll lick the man who says Ugly Sam's head isn't level!" "So'll I!" replied all the others.

THE FATAL GLASS.-LAURA U. CASE.

He raised the cup to his pure, sweet lips—
Lips fresh from a mother's kisses;

Merry the banquet hall that night,

For youth and beauty were there, and bright
The glittering lamps shone o'er them;

And one had sung with a voice divine,

A song in praise of the ruby wine,

That graced the feast before them.
Little he dreamed as he lightly quaffed
The sparkling wine, that the first rare draught
Was a link in the chain to bind him,

And drag his soul, like a servile slave,
Down slippery steps to a shameful grave,
From a throne where love enshrined him.

She raised the cup to her tainted lips--
Lips foul with the vilest curses-
In a loathsome haunt of sin and shame,
Where Christian charity seldom came,

With its holy words to teach them
Of the pastures green and waters sweet—
Of her who wept at the Master's feet,

Whose boundless love could reach them.
Is love so dear, and life so cheap,

That one poor soul, like a wandering sheep

Alone on the bleak, cold mountain, Should gladly turn from a life accursed, To drown the past and quench the thirst In draughts from a poisonous fountain? He raised the cup to his trembling lipsLips wrinkled by age and hunger; The meagre pittance he'd begged for food, Brightened the palm of the man who stood At his bar with his wines around him. He drank, and turned on tottering feet To the bitter storm and the cold, dark street, Where a corpse in the morn they found him And oh! could those speechless lips have told Of the want and sorrow, hunger and cold

He had known, or the answer given, When his trembling soul for entrance plead At the crystal gates, where One has said: "No drunkard shall enter Heaven!"

UNCLE SAM'S A HUNDRED.

AN ANTICIPATORY CENTENNIAL ODE.

Oh ye powers! what a roar,
Such was never heard before-
Thundering, from shore to shore,
66 Uncle Sam's a hundred."

Cannon boom and trumpets bray,
Fiddles squeak and fountains play-
'Tis his great Centennial day-
Uncle Sam's a hundred.

Stalwart men and puny boys,
Maids and matrons swell the noise,
Every baby lifts its voice:

"Uncle Sam's a hundred."

Nervous folks, who dote on quiet,
Though they're half distracted by it,
Can't help mixing in the riot:
"Uncle Sam's a hundred."

Brutes that walk and birds that fly,
On the earth or in the sky,

Join the universal cry,

"Uncle Sam's a hundred."

Don't let's act like crazy men.

Must we take to fooling when

Uncle Sam's a hundred?

There he stands-our modern Saul-
Head and shoulders above all;
Yet," Pride goes before a fall,"

E'en though one's a hundred.
"What's a hundred in our day?"
Foreign Uncle Sams will say;

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Let us sit and watch the play-
He is but a hundred.

Granted he's a shapely youth-
Fair and ruddy-yet, forsooth!

He's too young-and that's the truth!
Only just a hundred.

"When he's twice as old, pard'e!

"Twill be easier to foresee

What will be his destiny,

Now he's but a hundred.

"When he's played his boyish pranks,
Should he seek to join our ranks
We'll reflect. But now-no thanks!
Why, he's but a hundred!"

Yes, our uncle's years are few;
He is young-the charge is true;
Let us keep that fact in view,
Though he counts a hundred.
Don't let's tempt him to ignore
Warnings that have gone before;
Perils both by sea and shore,
Now that he's a hundred.

Let us strive with earnest heart,
Each of us to do his part,
So that he may 'scape the smart,
Seeing he's a hundred.

And with solemn, grateful thought,
Of the deeds that he has wrought,
Guided, cherished, favored, taught,
Till he's reached a hundred.

Let us, as we vaunt his worth,
Mingle soberness with mirth,
While we shout to all the earth,
"Uncle Sam's a hundred."

-New York Evening Post.