whisky 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.

Ye

"I've come down here to tell you all about it," answered Sam. "Move the chairs back a little and give me room. 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 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-gettin' 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:

"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 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 ax, and am going up to Canada to winter.'

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 reflectively at one another after he had passed out, and it was a long time before anyone spoke. Then Tall Chicago flung his clay pipe into a corner, and said: "I'll whip the man who says Ugly Sam's head isn't level!"

"So'll I!" replied all the others.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and

damps;

I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His days are marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel; 66 As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;

Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on,"

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat ; He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat ; O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me; As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

LOCHINVAR.

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west;
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate

The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
'Mong bridemen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all;
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied-
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine;
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochnivar.'

The bride kissed the goblet-the knight took it up;
He quaffed off the wine and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bridemaidens whispered, ""Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur, They'll have fleet steeds, that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græms of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochnivar?
SIR WALTER SCOTT.

MAUD MULLER.

Maud Muller, on a summer's day,
Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
The mockbird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town,
White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest
And a nameless longing filled her breast —

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,
For something better than she had known.

The judge rode slowly down the lane,
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed
Through the meadow, across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the judge, "a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,
Of the singing birds and the humming bees,

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown,
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!
That I the judge's bride might be !

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,
And praise and toast me at his wine.