And answered, with the ready truth
And open frankness of her youth,

At school." "Who keeps it?" "Uncle Sam." "What is this place, sweet?" "Yuba Dam."

"Alas!" he screamed, in frantic grief,
"Will no one come to my relief?
Will no one tell me where I am?"
The school-boys shouted, "Yuba Dam !"
And on the bridge, as he did slam,
The planks re-echoed, " Yuba Dam."
"Perdition seize the place!" he cried,
As through the street he swiftly hied,
Yet ere he went to bed that night,
From something told him by a wight,
He found that he himself had shammed,
And that the Yuba had been dammed.

THE SOLDIER'S PARDON.-JAMES SMITH.

Wild blew the gale in Gibraltar one night,
As a soldier lay stretched in his cell;

And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light
On his countenance dreamily fell.

Nought could she reveal, but a man true as steel,
That oft for his country had bled;

And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy,
For despair, fear, and trembling had fled.

But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow

At a tyrant who held him in scorn;

And his fate soon was sealed, for alas! honest Joe
Was to die on the following morn.

Oh! sad was the thought to a man that had fought
'Mid the ranks of the gallant and brave,—

To be shot through the breast at a coward's behest,
And laid low in a criminal's grave!

The night call had sounded, when Joe was aroused
By a step at the door of his cell;

'Twas a comrade with whom he had often caroused,
That now entered to bid him farewell.

"Ah, Tom! is it you come to bid me adieu? 'Tis kind, my lad! give me your hand!

Nay-nay-don't get wild, man, and make me a child !-I'll be soon in a happier land!”

With hands clasped in silence, Tom mournfully said,
"Have you any request, Joe, to make?-
Remember by me 'twill be fully obeyed:
Can I anything do for your sake?"

'When it's over, to-morrow!" he said, filled with sorrow, "Send this token to her whom I've sworn

All my fond love to share!"-'twas a lock of his hair,
And a prayer-book, all faded and worn.

"Here's this watch for my mother; and when you write home," And he dashed a bright tear from his eye

"Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom,
Like a man, and a soldier!--Good bye!"
Then the sergeant on guard, at the grating appeared,
And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell,

By the moon's waning light, with a husky "Good-night!
God be with you, dear comrade!-farewell!"

Gray dawned the morn in a dull, cloudy sky,
When the blast of a bugle resounded;
And Joe ever fearless, went forward to die,
By the hearts of true heroes surrounded.

"Shoulder arms" was the cry as the prisoner passed by:
"To the right about-march!" was the word;

And their pale faces proved how their comrade was loved,
And by all his brave regiment adored.

Right onward they marched to the dread field of doom:
Sternly silent, they covered the ground;

Then they formed into line amid sadness and gloom,
While the prisoner looked calmly around.

Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer,
And faint tolled the solemn death-bell,

As he knelt on the sand, and with uplifted hand,
Waved the long and the lasting farewell.
"Make ready!" exclaimed an imperious voice:

"Present!". -struck a chill on each mind;
Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice,
For "Hold!-hold!" cried a voice from behind.
Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy,
As a horseman cried, " Mercy!- -Forbear!"
With a thrilling “ Hurrah!- -a free pardon!-
And the muskets rung loud in the air.

-huzzah!"

Soon the comrades were locked in each other's embrace:
No more stood the brave soldiers dumb:

With a loud cheer, they wheeled to the right-about-face,
Then away at the sound of the drum!-

And a brighter day dawned in sweet Devon's fair land,
Where the lovers met, never to part;

And he gave her a token-true, warm, and unbroken-
The gift of his own gallant heart!

AWAY FROM THE WINE-CUP, AWAY!

Away from the wine-cup, away, my boy,
From the revelers' haunt, away!

Away from the tempter's subtle wiles,

Ere he claim you as his prey!"

'Twas a mother's warning, loving voice, that bade her son beware,

For her faithful heart foresaw in the cup a hidden, lurking

snare;

And she dreaded the convict's weary cell-the drunkard's unwept grave.

For she knew the vigils mothers keep for those they would die to save;

And again her tones of saintly love, that thrilled with accents mild,

With clarion power rang out that night, to guard her erring child.

"Haste, haste, my boy, for a serpent lurks

In that vintage rare and old,

With as deadly a coil as the one that winds

His victim, fold on fold!"

But her son still sat in the hall of mirth while sport and jest were high;

For what cared he for her pleading words, or her bitter wailing cry?

The shrill night wind went shrieking past, and the mockers laughed with joy,

As they pledged in the wine-cup's ruddy red," The widow's darling boy!"

And they said, "Here's warmth, and life, and cheer; and the chains her fancy sees

Are but links of flowers-the daisy chains! We'll snap them when we please!"

They shouted in glee, until there arose

A drunkard, with age bowed down,

Who strove with his feeble and trembling voice,

Their unseemly words to drown.

"Behold," cried he, "the piteous wreck a thirst for strong drink has made!

What I am now you yet may be, by the self-same foe be

trayed!

You look on me as a loathsome wretch, a thing for scoffs

and jeers,

To be hooted at by boys in the streets-too low for a woman's tears!

But a mother's love once plead for me, as now your mother

pleads

As I think how I broke her faithful heart, my heart with anguish bleeds!"

His palsied hand then dropped to his side,
And the old man gasped for breath;

While a thrill of horror ran through the crowd,

For they felt 'twas the stroke of death!

Then over the form of the poor old man, whom they had oft abhorred,

With right hands raised in sight of death, they pledged, with one accord,

To taste no more of the flowing bowl, or "look on the wine when red."

Lest they should fill unhonored graves or lie as the unmourned dead;

And by the faith of a mother's love, that had plead for her son that night,

They pledged henceforth, their hearts and lives to temperance, truth, and right.

New York Weekly.

BENEATH THE SURFACE.-W. F. Fox.

Beneath the surface there is wealth,
Though often hid from view:
We catch the dross as if by stealth,
And miss the good and true.

As deepest currents ever glide
Where scarce a ripple floats,

So hearts their richest treasures hide,
And souls their sweetest notes.

We see the light that faintly beams;
But, from its feeble glow,

We fail to trace the flame that gleams
Beneath the outward flow.

We deem the mountains proud and grand;
Their wealth is not in show:

Though high their heads, their golden sand
Lies deep and far below.

We ever judge by outward show

The wealth that lies within,

And by the surface we would know
The prize we seek to win.

The rank and dress will oft deceive
The worth of soul to tell,
For merit true we oft perceive
Where birth unkindly fell.

We gather stones that round us lie,
And shells of dullest ray,
Yet pass the gems unnoticed by,
And fling the pearls away.

And many thoughts that fill the mind,
And virtues of the soul,

Are, like the gems we never find,
Deep hid within their goal.

And many hearts beat warm with love
Whose friendship ne'er will die :
We never heed, nor pause to prove,
But coldly pass them by.

The objects that we cherish most
Are clear to us, we know;
Yet many a prize to us is lost
Because 'tis hid below.

THE OFFICE-SEEKER'S PLATFORM.

No man can be truly great without money, and the easi est way to get money is to take it on every occasion, no matter whose it may be. I mean to be truly great.

It is safe to say, the way society is now constituted, that an honest man is a fool; and if a knave is not the noblest work of God, then what is he? I think that is very well put-what is he? Look at him as he moves in the highest circles of society, swaggers along the sidewalk, talks of stocks, bonds, and mortgages, and boasts his untold wealth, and say what is he?

As for me, I mean to move in the highest circles of society. I am going to Congress to make money. I shall refuse no bribe, and .shut my eyes to corruption. I care nothing for my constituents; let them look out for themselves. That is their business; my business is to get money, and be truly great, and move in the highest circles of society. Hon