BY W. BLAIR: VOLUME 24. - Gilled loth THE ISLE AND TURA BY GEO. D. PRENTICE In the tropical seas ' There's a beautiful isle, Where storms never darken, zunlight!st-soft-snail • There the hymxi of the breeze And the hyrim of the istieare Are mingled in one:. Like sweet sounds in a dream,: - There the song-birds-at-morn, From the thick shadows start, Like musical thoughts • From the poet's full heart. .There the song-birds at noon Sit in silence unbroken, Like an exquisite dream • In the bosom unspoken. • There the irireralLang like rainbows On wildwood and lea 0, say, wilt thou dwell • - In that sweet isle with me In the depths of the slay' There's a beautiful star, Where no yew casts a shadow The bright scenes to mar. There the rainbows ne'er fade, And the dews are ne'er dry, ,And a circlet of moons • • Ever shinesjn the sky. There the songs of the blest,, • -nd-the,-songs4d 7 the-spherM Are unceasinnly•heard .Through the•infinite years. There the soft airs float down From the amarinth bowers, .All faint with the perfume Of Eden's own flowers. . There truth, love and•beauty Immortal will be 0, say, wilt thou dwell In that sweet star with me ? 'WEDLOCK'S CHAIN. Oh, wedlock's mystic, sacred chain, When worn tnost lightly binds most strong,; And hearts where gentlest it has lain • Are those that will endure most long. • The chain hill wound, the links carode, If worn as captives wear their chain And love grow weary of the load That clop its joy , with woe an pain. ...OhoCeave each link like rarest gold, And tnine its coils so lightly round. That hearts shall never feel the fold • That tells,theni "York are•captiVe bond.' For mortal, when thy graces die, . And beauty no more fills thy breagt, Then love will spread its wings and fly To other hearts in freshness dressed. 'To something else that's bright and fair - Lives filled with wooing, winning flowers; lie scorns to breathe the noisome air Of withered and infected bowers: No bond can bind Love's tender wings, 1)4 Nor nuptial vow, nor pitty's prayer; Love claims a charmed life, mid flings All opposition to the air. And when on injuredxing once It knows. alas! no second birth; No power can light the torch once dead— Restore the tarnished,genes proud worth, Sliste'buns Padinff. A True Story for the Boys. BY BEY. WM. H. FRIES. During the great rebellion it was my good fortune to be chaplainof the Fourth Delaware Volunteers, in which there was a drumnirr boy named Franklin Walker. While stationed at Fairfax Court House, Va., we were assigned to. a divisien of the 22d army, corps, under command of Gen eral CoNoran. The General, having lost his first wife a short time before, while there married a second, and brought her to his quarters, and, according to custom, all the bands of the various regiments ser enaded him. When our band was invi ted into the General's house to lie treated with "Good Irish Whiskey," our little hero, the drummer boy, refused to drink. It was immediately told the General, who took the cup himself and said, "Come my little man, you will drink with the Gener al, won't you ?' "No, thank you, General," replied Franklin, "the last advice my par cuts gave me before I left home was, 'don't touch or taste intoxicating drinks,' and I intend to follow their advice." "That's right, my little man," said the General, "always follow your parents' ad vice." Not long after this, the General, in com pany with another officer, was riding out for display, and being almost always un