PASSING BY.-MISS MULOCK.

"And they told him that Jesus of Nazareth passed by." Oh rich man! from your happy door Seeing the old, the sick, the poor, Who ask for nothing, scarcely weep, To whom even heaven means only sleep, While you, given good things without measure, Sometimes can hardly sleep for pleasure, Let not the blessed moment fly: Jesus of Nazareth passes by.

Is there a sinner, tired of sin,
Longing a new life to begin?

But all the gates of help are shut,
And all the words of love are mute,
Earth's best joys sere, like burnt-up grass,
And even the very heavens as brass;
Turn not away so pitilessly:
Jesus of Nazareth passes by.

Self-hardened man, of smooth, bland smile;
Woman, with heart like desert isle
Set in the sea of household love,

Whom nothing save "the world" can move;
At your white lie, your neering speech,
Your backward thrust no sword can reach,
Look, your child lifts a wondering eye!
Jesus of Nazareth passes by.

Oh, all ye foolish ones! who feel

A sudden doubt, like piercing steel,

When your dead hearts within you burn,
And conscience sighs, "Return, return!"
Why let ye the sweet impulse fleet,

Love's wave wash back from your tired feet,
Knowing not Him who came so nigh,—
Jesus of Nazareth passing by?

He must not pass. Hold Him secure—
In likeness of His humble poor;

Of many a sick soul, sin-beguiled;
In innocent face of little child:

Clasp Him-quite certain it is He

In every form of misery:

And when thou meet'st Him up on high,
Be sure, He will not pass thee by.

SORROWFUL TALE OF A HIRED GIRL.-JOHN QUILL.

Mary Ann was a hired girl.

She was called "hired," chiefly because she always objected to having her wages lowered.

Mary Ann was of foreign extraction, and she said she was descended from a line of kings. But nobody ever saw her descend, although they admitted that there must have been a great descent from a king to Mary Ann.

And Mary Ann never had any father and mother. As far as it could be ascertained, she was spontaneously born in an intelligence office.

It was called an intelligence office because there was no intelligence about it, excepting an intelligent way they had of chiseling you out of two-dollar bills.

The early youth of Mary Ann was passed in advertising for a place, and in sitting on a hard bench, dressed in a bonnet and speckled shawl and three-ply carpeting, sucking the end of her parasol.

Her nose began well, and had evidently been conceived in an artistic spirit, but there seemed not to have been stuff enough, as it was left half-finished, and knocked upwards at the end.

She said she would never live anywhere where they didn't have Brussels carpet in the kitchen, and a family that would take her to the sea-shore in summer. And as she knew absolutely nothing, she said she must have five dollars a week as a slight compensation for having to take the trouble to learn. Mary Ann was eccentric, and she would often boil her stockings in the tea-kettle, and wipe the dishes with her calico frock.

Her brother was a bricklayer, and he used to send her letters sealed up with a dab of mortar, and it was thus, perhaps, she conceived the idea that hair was a good thing to mix in to hold things together, and so she always introduced some of her own into the biscuit.

But Mary Ann was fond-yes, passionately fond-of work. So much did she love it that she dilly-dallied with it, and seemed to hate to get it done. She was often very much absorbed in her work. In fact, she was an absorbing per

son, and many other things were absorbed besides Mary Ann. Butter, beef, and eggs, were all absorbed, and nobody ever knew where they went to.

And whenever Mary Ann had to make boned turkey, she used to bone the turkey so effectually that nobody could tell what had become of it.

And if she so much as laid her little finger on a saucer, that identical saucer would immediately fall on the floor and be shattered to atoms.

But Mary Ann would merely say that if the attraction of gravitation was very powerful in that spot she was not to blame for it, for she had no control over the laws of nature.

Uncles seem to have been one of Mary Ann's weaknesses; for she had some twenty or thirty cousins, all males, who came to see her every night, and there was a mysterious and inexplicable connection between their visits and the condition of the pantry, which nobody could explain. There was something shadowy and obscure about it, for whenever Mary Ann's cousins came, there was always a fading away in the sugar-box, and low tide in the flour-barrel. It was strange-but true.

Mary Ann was troubled with absence of mind, but this was not as strong a suit with her as absence of body, for her Sunday out used to come twice a week, and sometimes three times a week.

But she always went to church, she said, and she thought it was right to neglect her work for her faith, for she believed that faith was better than works.

But if the beginning of Mary Ann was strange, how extraordinary was her ending! She never died-Mary Ann was not one of your perishable kind. But she suddenly disappeared. One day she was there full of life and spirits and hope, and cooking wine, and the next day she wasn't, and the place that once knew her knew her no more.

Where she went to, how she went, by what means she went, no one could tell; but it was regarded as a singular coincidence that eight napkins, a soup-ladle, five silver spoons, a bonnet, two dresses, two ear-rings, and a lot of valuable green-backs melted away at the same time, and it is supposed that the person who stole Mary Ann away must have captured these also.

"TWILL NOT BE LONG.

"Twill not be long-this wearying commotion
That marks its passage in the human breast
And, like the billows on the heaving ocean,
That ever rock the cradle of unrest,

Will soon subside; the happy time is nearing,
When bliss, not pain, shall have its rich increase;
E'en unto Thee the dove may now be steering
With gracious message. Wait, and hold thy peace
"Twill not be long!

The lamps go out; the stars give up their shining;
The world is lost in darkness for awhile;
And foolish hearts give way to sad repining,

And feel as though they ne'er again could smile.
Why murmur thus, the needful lesson scorning?
Oh, read thy Teacher and His word aright!
The world would have no greeting for the morning,
If 'twere not for the darkness of the night;
"Twill not be long!

"Twill not be long; the strife will soon be ended;
The doubts, the fears, the agony, the pain,
Will seem but as the clouds that low descended
To yield their pleasure to the parched plain.
The times of weakness and of sore temptations,
Of bitter grief and agonizing cry;

These earthly cares and ceaseless tribulations
Will bring a blissful harvest by-and-by-
Twill not be long!

"Twill not be long; the eye of faith, discerning
The wondrous glory that shall be revealed,
Instructs the soul, that every day is learning

The better wisdom which the world concealed. And soon, aye, soon, there'll be an end of teaching, When mortal vision finds immortal sight, And her true place the soul in gladness reaching, Beholds the glory of the Infinite,

"Twill not be long!

""Twill not be long!" the heart goes on repeating; It is the burden of the mourner's song;

The work of grace in us he is completing,

Who thus assures us-" It will not be long." His rod and staff our fainting steps sustaining, Our hope and comfort every day will be; And we may bear our cross as uncomplaining As He who leads us unto Calvary;

"Twill not be long!

GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN.-WILL CARLETON.

JOHN.

I've worked in the field all day, a plowin' the "stony streak;" I've scolded my team till I'm hoarse; I've tramped till my legs are weak;

I've choked a dozen swears, (so's not to tell Jane fibs,) When the plow-pint struck a stone and the handles punched my ribs.

I've put my team in the barn, and rubbed their sweaty coats;
I've fed 'em a heap of hay and half a bushel of oats;
And to see the way they eat makes me like eatin' feel,
And Jane wont say to-night that I don't make out a meal.
Well said! the door is locked! but here she's left the key,
Under the step, in a place known only to her and me;
I wonder who's dyin' or dead, that she's hustled off pell-
mell;

But here on the table's a note, and probably this will tell.

Good God! my wife is gone! my wife is gone astray!
The letter it says, "Good-bye, for I'm a going away;

I've lived with you six months, John, and so far I've been true;

But I'm going away 'to-day with a handsomer man than you." A han'somer man than me! Why, that ain't much to say: There's han'somer men than me go past here every day. There's han'somer men than me-I ain't of the han'some kind;

But a loven er man than I was, I guess she'll never find.

Curse her! curse her! I say, and give my curses wings! May the words of love I've spoken be changed to scorpion stings!

Oh, she filled my heart with joy, she emptied my heart of doubt,

And now, with a scratch of a pen, she lets my heart's blood out!

Curse her! curse her! say I, she'll some time rue this day;
She'll some time learn that hate is a game that two can play;
And long before she dies she'll grieve she ever was born,
And I'll plow her grave with hate, and seed it down to scorn.
As sure as the world goes on, there'll come a time when she
Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man than me;
And there'll be a time when he will find, as others do,
That she who is false to one, can be the same with two.