I could have _made_ one, embellished with various incidents; could have had a rifle pointed, or frozen all our hands and feet at least, "or anything else that's agreeable;" but it would not then have been, as it is now, the simple truth. A NIGHT IN NAZARETH. BY MARY YOUNG. "But while he thought on these things, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost."--MATTHEW i. 20. Stern passions rose, and won wild mastery In Joseph's breast. He wandered darkly on, From the calm fountain and the olive grove, Toward the wilderness, as he would find Room for the ocean tumult of his thoughts. Long had he loved her with a matchless love, Deep as his nature, truthful as his truth; And she was his--by every sacred tie-- His own, espoused; though ever still had dwelt On Mary's thoughtful brow a chastening spell, That shamed to stillness all life's throbbing pulses: Or, if his words grew passion, there would steal To her large, azure eye a startled glance Of sad, deep questioning, and she would turn Appealingly to heaven, with trembling tears-- Yet was it she--the very same he saw, Writ o'er with all the foul name of a wanton. One fearful word broke from the quivering lips Of the young Hebrew, as at last alone, By the dark base of a high, shadowy rock, He sank in agony; and then he bent His forehead down to the cool, mossy turf, And lay there silently. Light, creeping plants, And one long spray of the white thornless rose, Stooped low, and swayed above him; a soft sound Of far, sweet, breezy whisperings wooed his ear, Till gentler thoughts stole to him, and he wept. Ere long his ear heard not: all things around, The present and the past--the painful past-- Became as though they were not. Joseph lay, With eyes closed calmly, and a strange full peace Breathed to his spirit's depths; for there was one, Fairer and nobler than the sons of earth, Bending in kindness o'er him.