I Gave Him An Orange.

FROM DR. CONROY'S EVIDENCE.

Beside the lowly couch of pain, They watched the flickering breath; They knew that mortal skill was vain To stem the tide of death.

For ruthless hands, and heart impure, Though unprovoked by strife,

Had aimed the missive all too sure Which dulled the warm young life.

When skill had failed, love took its place; The little gift was given; One moment's brightness lit the face, And life from death seemed riven.

Oh! deep within each mother's soul This deed of love shall tell; While He who made the wounded whole, Such acts He noteth well.

Yea, Who the reins of right doth hold 'Yond tortuous frauds of time, Sees brazen vice, ungilt by gold, And poverty no crime.

He shall adjudge in righteousness, And sickness, woe and dearth, With mammon fall; and Heaven's own bliss Outweigh the wrongs of earth.

ST. ANDREW'S DAY.

WRITTEN FOR THE CALEDONIAN CLUB.

Another year hath passed away! Once more, a joyous band, We hail with mirth thy Natal Day, Saint of the Heather Land.

For, though we love our Island home, Our "home upon the wave," In Fancy's flights those shores we roam Which Scotia's waters lave.

True Scottish hearts, in every clime, This day lift up their voice; And Memory's joy-bells sweetly chime, And wearied souls rejoice,

As gorgeously, to longing eyes, Comes forth, in glory bright, Those mountains which the nearing skies O'er-flood with purple light.

Again we climb Ben Ledi's steep, Or skim Loch Lomond's tide; Or muse where sunbeams softly creep Through haunts of byegone pride.

Again we tread the Solway shore, Or banks of bonnie Dee; Or watch the Forth's proud waters pour Into the Northern Sea.

Or gaze upon that tragic field Which ancient minstrel sang; Where warrior died upon his shield As shouts of battle rang.

Or hark through Bothwell's ivied towers Soft winds sonatas play; Whilst Clutha, sparkling 'yond the bowers Lights youth's long, golden day.

Fair land! beyond all other lands The theme of tale and song; The present and the past clasp hands Thy glory to prolong.

Disgrace be his, and lasting shame Who heeds not Heaven's just laws; And, traitor to the Scottish name Who owns not freedom's cause.

But hallowed be their memory Who kept thy honor bright; Thy great of every century, Even down to Wallace wight.

* * * * *

Now drink we to the heath-clad hills Beloved of bard and sage; The silvery lochs, the rippling rills, The blood-bought heritage!

And drink we too, with heart of grace, Victoria the Good! Our queenly queen of Stuart race, That reigned in Holyrood.

All honor to our Highland Chief! White-wreathed of glory's crown; Who dignifieth[Note] honors brief His sun shall ne'er go down.

And last we honor each and all Of Celt, or Saxon blood; Whose acts attest, in hut or hall God's type of brotherhood.

GOOD-BYE AND GOOD-NIGHT.

Good-bye! it quivers through the years, Low-breathing of despair; The sunniest flower of life it sears, And dulls the summer air.

It echoes through the falling leaves, Through ocean's ebb and flow; In Spring's soft gales, in Autumn sheaves; Sore parting, bitter woe.

It speaketh through the vacant chair To every yearning heart; Howe'er so noble, gifted, fair, Earth-born on earth must part.

Good-night! Oh eyes long used to weep! Faith spans the mist of years; High o'er life's toil, death's darksome sleep, Heaven's fair, sweet dawn appears.

Refulgent with its glorious rays, O'er earth, o'er ocean's foam; Where'er the weary wanderer strays, To light the spirit home.

Home to the painless, sinless land, The never darkening sky; Where hearts ne'er break with clasp of hand; Where friends ne'er say Good-bye.

THE ROSE.

She passed as a ray of sunshine O'er the dark, piazza floor; And the gloaming turned to noonday As she neared the open door, And in her white and dainty hands A precious gift she bore.

Thou baby rose! from parent stem Far traveller from my heart's first shrine; Sweet breathings of the olden days Speak from each tiny leaf of thine; Thou! velvet-clad in robes of state; Rich-crimsoned of the Hand Divine.

Sweet art thou as the dreams of youth Or dew-drops glist 'neath orient ray; Still, smiling in thy fair, young bloom Thou'rt frail and perishing as they; Yet, aftermath of glory-light Doth rise o'er darkness and decay.

HOME FROM SCHOOL.

Oh! sweet the whispers of the Spring Which stir the greening leaves; And sweet the melodies which ring Through Autumn's golden sheaves. Oh! sweet the prattle of the rill As, in its youthful pride, It danceth down the smiling hill To join the foaming tide.

But, sweeter far than nature's chime Unto a mother's ear; More tender than the river's rhyme Those tones she longs to hear. Those notes unset to music's rule; Those high-strung notes of joy, Which herald coming home from school; The coming of her boy.

Oh! beauteous are the rainbow hues Which deck the oriole's wing; And sparkling bright the pearly dews Which 'round fair morning cling. Oh! lovely are the flowers which wreathe Heaven's hope o'er earth's dark wold; And grander far than aught beneath, Those orbs of gleaming gold.

But, unto mother-love aye true, More bright than amber sky That boyish form against the blue, With ensign cap swung high.

The beauty of that fair young face Outshines heaven's clearest star; Nor ills of time will blur its grace, Nor fate impress one scar.

The waning year is nigh its round, The air is crisp and cool; Though footsteps linger, love, unbound, Doth greet my boys from school. I feel the shadows lengthening, The twilight slipping fast; Yet, through the good God strengthening, Dark night is soon o'erpast.

Methinks, even in that holier land, I'll cross the pearly floor, And by the blessed angel stand Who guards the hallowed door. And, while seraphic voices soar, Amid supremest joys, From earth's hard school, I'll list once more To welcome home my boys.