THE ANNUITY.-GEORGE OUTRAM. I gaed to spend a week in Fife-- Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell, I sell't her an annuity. The bargain lookit fair eneugh She just was turned o' saxty-three I couldna guessed she'd prove sae teugh, But years have come, and years have gane, Since she got her annuity. She's crined' awa' to bane and skin, She munches wi' her wizen'd gums, I read the tables drawn wi' care For an insurance company; Her chance o' life was stated there, Wi' perfect perspicuity. But tables here or tables there, She's lived ten years beyond her share, To ca' for her annuity. Last Yule she had a fearfu' host, I thought a kink might set me freeI led her out, 'mang snaw and frost, Wi' constant assiduity. But diel ma' care-the blast gaed by, It just cost me a tooth, for bye If there's a sough o' cholera, Or typhus,-wha sae gleg as she? She buys up baths, an' drugs, an' a', In siccan superfluity! She doesna need-she's fever proof- Ae day she fell-her arm she brak- It's cured! She handles't like a flail- Wi' her and her annuity. Her broozled flesh and broken banes They die when they're exposed to air- If mortal means could nick her thread, But how to fell a withered wife That's carved out o' the tree of life- I'd try a shot-but whar's the mark? She's palsified-an' shakes her head She might be drowned; but go she'll not Or hanged-if cord could grip a throat It's fitter far to hang the rope It draws out like a telescope; "Twad tak' a dreadfu' length o' drop To settle her annuity. Will poison do it? It has been tried, That's just the dish she can't abide, The Bible says the age o' man Threescore and ten, perchance, may be; She should hac lived afore the flood- She's some auld Pagan mummified She's been embalmed inside and oot- Lot's wife was fresh compared to her- The water-drop wears out the rock, It's pay me here-an' pay me there- KNOCKING-HARRIET BEECHER STOWE "Behold! I stand at the door and knock!" Knocking, knocking, ever knocking! 'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly, No! that door is hard to open; Wherefore, with that knocking dreary, *Suggested by Hunt's picture "Light of the World.” Knocking, knocking, ever knocking! Oh, sweet soul, but once behold Him, Open, open, once behold Him- Ah, that door! why wilt thou vex me- For the key is stiffly rusty; And the bolt is clogged and dusty; Seals it fast with twist and twine; Weeds of years and years before, Knocking, knocking! What! still knocking? What's the hour? The night is waning; Ah, this knocking! it disturbs me- Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee; Did she open? Doth she-will she? There the pierced hand still knocketh, And with ever patient watching, Still a God is waiting there. AN ODE TO INDEPENDENCE HALL. No sculptured marble greets the pilgrim's view; Thou Mecca of a freedom-loving land! Ye who have wandered o'er historic climes, Ye who have stood on Britain's royal isle, Ye who have trod the imperial streets of Gaul— Forget not this memorial of our love- Thy ancient bell, from out its brazen throat, CENTENNIAL ORATION.-HENRY ARMITT BROWN. Peroration from the oration delivered upon the occasion of the Centennial Annivrsary of the meeting of the first Colonial Congress in Carpenter's Hall, Philadelphia. The conditions of life are always changing, and the experience of the fathers is rarely the experience of the sons. The temptations which are trying us are not the temptations which beset their footsteps, nor the dangers which threaten our pathway the dangers which surrounded them. |