"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.

And when her face grows pale, and when her eyes grow dim, And when he is tired of her and she is tired of him,

She'll do what she ought to have done, and coolly count the cost;

And then she'll see things clear, and know what she has lost.

And thoughts that are now asleep will wake up in her mind,
And she will mourn and cry for what she has left behind;
And maybe she'll sometimes long for me-for me-but no!
I've blotted her out of my heart, and I will not have it so.
And yet in her girlish heart there was somethin' or other
she had

That fastened a man to her, and wasn't entirely bad;
And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn't last;
But I mustn't think of these things -I've buried 'em in the
past.

I'll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse;
She'll have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse;
But I'll live a life so square-and I well know that I can,-
That she always will sorry be that she went with that han'-

somer man.

Ah, here is her kitchen dress! it makes my poor eyes blur;
It seems when I look at that, as if 'twas holdin' her.
And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-
day hat,

And yonder's her weddin' gown: I wonder she didn't take that.

'Twas only this mornin' she came and called me her "dear

est dear,"

And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise here;
O God! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell,
Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell!

Good-bye! I wish that death had severed us two apart.
You've lost a worshiper here, you've crushed a lovin' heart.
I'll worship no woman again; but I guess I'll learn to pray,
And kneel as you used to kneel, before you run away.

And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven to bear, And if I thought I had some little influence there,

I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so,

As happy and gay as I was a half an hour ago.

JANE (entering).

Why, John, what a litter here! you've thrown things all

around!

Come, what's the matter now? and what have you lost or found?

And here's my father here, a waiting for supper, too;
I've been a riding with him-he's that "handsomer man
than you."

Ha! ha! Pa take a seat, while I put the kettle on,

And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John. Why, John, you look so strange! come, what has crossed your track?

I was only a joking you know, I'm willing to take it back.

JOHN (aside).

Well, now, if this ain't a joke, with rather a bitter cream!
It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream;

And I think she "smells a rat," for she smiles at me so queer,
I hope she don't; good gracious! I hope that they didn't

hear!

Twas one of her practical drives, she thought I'd under-
stand!

But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay of the land.
But one thing's settled with me-to appreciate heaven well,
'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell.
-Harper's Weekly.

THE MONSTER CANNON.-VICTOR HUGO.

They heard a noise unlike anything usually heard. The cry and the noise came from inside the vessel.

One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had become detached.

This, perhaps, is the most formidable of ocean events. Nothing more terrible can happen to a war vessel, at sea and under full sail.

A cannon which breaks its moorings becomes suddenly some indescribable, supernatural beast. It is a machine which transforms itself into a monster. This mass runs on its wheels, like billiard-balls, inclines with the rolling, plunges with the pitching, goes, comes, stops, seems to meditate, resumes its course, shoots from one end of the ship to the other like an arrow, whirls, steals away, evades, prances,

strikes, breaks, kills, exterminates. It is a ram which capriciously assails a wall. Add this-the ram is of iron, the wall is of wood. This furious bulk has the leaps of the panther, the weight of the elephant, the agility of the mouse, the pertinacity of the axe, the unexpectedness of the surge, the rapidity of lightning, the silence of the sepulchre. It weighs ten thousand pounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. Its whirlings are suddenly cut at right angles. What is to be done? How shall an end be put to this? A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes, a wind goes down, a broken mast is replaced, a leak is stopped, a fire put out; but what shall be done with this enormous brute of bronze? How try to secure it? You can reason with a bull-dog, astonish a bull, fascinate a boa, frighten a tiger, soften a lion; no resource with such a monster as a loose cannon. You cannot kill it it is dead; and at the same time it lives with a sinister life which comes from the infinite. It is moved by the ship, which is moved by the sea, which is moved by the wind. This exterminator is a plaything. The horrible cannon struggles, advances, retreats, strikes to the right, strikes to the left, flees, passes, disconcerts expectation, grinds obstacles, crushes men like flies.

:

The carronade, hurled by the pitching, made havoc in the group of men, crushing four at the first blow; then receding and brought back by the rolling, it cut a fifth unfortunate man in two, and dashed against the larboard side a piece of the battery which it dismounted. Thence came the cry of distress which had been heard. All the men rushed towards the ladder. The battery was emptied in a twinkling of an eye.

The captain and lieutenant, although both intrepid men, had halted at the head of the ladder, and, dumb, pale, hesitating, looked down into the lower deck. Some one pushed them to one side with his elbow and descended.

It was an old man, a passenger.

Once at the foot of the ladder, he stood still.

Hither and thither along the lower deck came the cannon. One might have thought it the living chariot of the Apocalypse.

The four wheels passed and repassed over the dead men,