When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,

And looking grave-" You must," says he,
'Quit your sweet bride, and come with me."
"With you! and quit my Susan's side!
With you!" the hapless husband cried;
"Young as I am 'tis monstrous hard!
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared:
My thoughts on other matters go;
This is my wedding-day you know."
What more he urged, I have not heard,
His reasons could not well be stronger;
So Death the poor delinquent spared,
And left to live a little longer.

Yet calling up a serious look,

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke-
"Neighbor," he said, "Farewell! No more
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And farther, to avoid all blame

Of cruelty upon my name,

To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you're summoned to the grave.
Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve;

In hopes you'll have no more to say;
But, when I call again this way,

Well pleased the world will leave."
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wise, how well, How roundly he pursued his course,

And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,
The willing muse shall tell:

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,

Nor thought of death as near;

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace.

But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road
The beaten track content he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

And now, one night, in musing mood

As all alone he sat,

Th' unwelcome messenger of fate
Once more before him stood.
Half killed with anger and surprise,
"So soon returned!" old Dodson cries.

"So soon, d'ye call it?" Death replies: "Surely, my friend, you're but in jest! Since I was here before

'Tis six-and-thirty years at least,

And you are now fourscore."

"So much the worse," the clown rejoined; "To spare the agéd would be kind:

However, see your search be legal;

And your authority-is't regal?

Else you are come on a fool's errand,

With but a secretary's warrant.

Besides, you promised me Three Warnings,

Which I have looked for nights and mornings;

But for that loss of time and ease,

I can recover damages."

"I know," cries Death, "that at the best

I seldom am a welcome guest;

But don't be captious, friend, at least:

I little thought you'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable;
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength!"
"Hold," says the farmer," not so fast!
I have been lame these four years past."
"And no great wonder," Death replies:
"However you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms would make amends."
Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight."

"This is a shocking tale, t'is true, But still there's comfort left for you: Each strives your sadness to amuse;

I warrant you hear all the news."

"There's none," cries he; "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I couldnot hear."

"Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined,

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These are unjustifiable yearnings;

"If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You've had your three sufficient warnings.

So, come along, no more we'll part,"

He said, and touched him with his dart.
And now old Dodson turning pale,
Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.

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.

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"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

chorus.

"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 Sam. "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 I 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:

came,

"And the old woman said she'd like to kiss me afore death 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."

There was a dead silence for a moment, and then he said:

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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 reflectively 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,