Various - Prairie Farmer, Vol. 56: No. 1, January 5, 1884.

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LITERATURE

[Illustration]

ROBIN, DEAR ROBIN!

Robin, dear Robin, could you come back to me,
Back to the hame you'll never mair see,
Could you sit down at evening and crack wi' me,
Oh, what a proud, happy woman I'd be!
On the white hearth the fire should burn clearly,
Nothing of comfort or rest you should lack,
And I would always be kindly and cheery,
Could you come back to me--could you come back.

Oh, Robin, Robin, I've miss'd you fu' sairly,
Morning, and evening, and a' the day long;
Many have treated me unca unfairly:
O for your arm so tender and strong:
If once again in your love I could hide me,
Little I'd care though all else I should lack
Sairly I'm needing your wisdom to guide me,
Oh, my lost darling, if you could come back!

Never again with frowns would I greet you;
Never again to your love be unkind;
Ever with kisses and smiles I would meet you;
Oh, in the days that are gone I was blind!
Oh, I was selfish, and foolish, and fretful,
Now I remember--remember in vain;
But I would never be cross or forgetful,
Could you come back to me, darling, again!

No, you will never come back to me--never!
But I shall come to you, Robin, some day.
Then you will ken a' my loving endeavor,
Just to grow better since you went away.
Yes, you will ken, in that happy to-morrow,
I hae been true to you, darling--sae true!
Asked my heart always, in joy or in sorrow,
"Will it please Robin, the thing that I do?"

Oh, in that wonderfu', wonderfu' meeting,
What shall I say to him? what will he say?
We shallna weary life's story repeating,
Seeing the end o' the sorrowfu' way.
With such a hope, then, how could I say truly,
"Robin, dear Robin, come back unto me!"
Heart, answer the thought sae wild and unruly,
"Robin, dear Robin, I shall come unto thee!"

--_Harper's Weekly._

MRS. WIMBUSH'S REVENGE.

(_Concluded from last week._)

It was a large picnic party. Mr. Charles Brookshank had drawn Mrs.
Wimbush's arm through his own, and strolled away from the rest.

"How delightful it would be if one could know the language of birds, as
folks did in the old Hindu fairy tales! Would it not, Mr. Brookshank?"

"My dear Mrs. Wimbush, they do nothing the whole day long but make love
and cry 'Sweet, sweet!' I would I were a bird, to make love in music."

The widow sighed, but it was more like a purr of pleasure.

"What did I know of love till you came here?" continued Mr. Charles.
"Absolutely nothing--except," he added, with reservation, "in a
professional way. And then we lawyers generally see the dark side of the
picture--the damages and the decrees nisi. But your visit has brightened
my whole life. O Mrs. Wimbush, you can not have been blind to my secret!
You have seen it written legibly in my face, and have not interposed to
check its development. I see you understand me, just as by intuitive
fine feeling you can penetrate the meaning of Mendelssohn's Songs
without Words. Mrs. Wimbush, you have already far advanced toward
learning the birds' language. I may rely upon your consent?"

"Charles, this happiness is indeed too much," ejaculated the widow.

"You need never be separated from your daughter Carry. A home for one is
a home for both; and I will cherish her while I live."

"But, Charles dear, she may marry."

"Marry, ma'am? Bless my soul, of course she will! She will marry me! She
has said so, don't you see?"

Mrs. Wimbush never said another word, but fell flat down upon the grass.

"What on earth has got the woman?" thought Mr. Charles. "She couldn't
have taken it worse if I had proposed to murder her daughter."

In their walk they had strayed through the trees close to the outskirts
of another picnic party. Mr. Charles immediately ran to ask some fair
volunteer to come to the assistance of Mrs. Wimbush, who had fainted. At
hearing the name, an active middle-aged lady sprang up and followed him.
It was Mrs. Marrables. The sight of her mother brought Mrs. Wimbush
round quicker than any smelling bottle could have done. She sat up.

"Mother, Mr. Brookshank; Mr. Brookshank, my mother, Mrs. Marrables."
They bowed. "Have the goodness to leave us together, Mr. Charles." He
bowed and obeyed. "Mother," said Mrs. Wimbush, "what on earth brought
you here? I thought you were at Taunton."

"No, dear. I have been at Bournemouth three weeks, I came merely for
change. Only last week I heard of your being here, and should have
called, but have been so much occupied, and I felt sure of meeting you
somewhere, and thought the surprise might be the more agreeable. We've
had a most delightful picnic with the Mount Stewart folks. But what was
all this fainting about? One would think Mr. Brookshank had been
proposing to you."

"He certainly made me a proposal mother, but I was quite unprepared for
it, and was overcome."

"What an imaginative and sensitive-minded girl you must be, Matilda! You
make me feel quite young. When will you be old enough to attend to
business? You will accept him, of course? Well, do as you please; you
may reckon on my consent, you know. But I must get back to my party, and
perhaps you had better rejoin yours. Ta-ta."

Jilted for her daughter! It wasn't pleasant. When Mrs. Wimbush got home,
she blew up Carry for being so sly.

"Well, mamma," said Carry, "of course I thought you knew all about it. I
never made any secret of the affair. I knew very well that you had
rejected Mr. Tom, but I could not possibly suppose that was any reason
why I should refuse Charles. Of course he is older than I am, but he is
only five-and-thirty, and has a good position; and I am sure we shall
always give you a welcome; Charles said so."

"Well," thought Mrs. Wimbush, "he has money, and it will be all in the
family; that's at least a comfort."

The effect of the little episode of the last chapter was that the
brothers were made friends, and Tom recovered his spirits, and could
laugh heartily at what he had before supposed was his brother's rivalry.

Mrs. Wimbush repented her that she had rejected Mr. Tom. Her repentance
produced a salutary desire on her part to make atonement for the past.
She would have him yet. When a widow says so much as that about a man,
let him 'ware hawk.

A month went by, and behold Mrs Wimbush and Mr. Tom Brookshank seated
tete-a-tete at an evening party, where the music which was going on was
sufficiently loud to render private conversation inaudible save to those
to whom it was addressed.

"I fear," said the widow, affecting an absent manner, "I treated you
very unkindly, Mr. Tom. You took me so entirely by surprise, that,
really, I--hardly know what I said. I have been very unhappy about
it--very."

"Forgotten and forgiven," whispered Mr. Tom.

"How generous of you! you make me so glad! because now that your brother
Charles is going to marry my daughter, we shall be in some sort related,
and I could not bear you to think unkindly of me."

"No," said Mr. Tom, fidgeting a little, "I shall never do that."

"How droll!" said the widow. "Let me see, what will the relationship be?
You will be my son-in-law's brother, and consequently I shall be your
mother-in-law once removed. You will have a mother younger than
yourself, Mr. Tom. I hope you will not presume upon her youth to be a
bad boy."

"All this is very true," he answered; "but I see the relationship in a
far different light. I shall be your father-in-law, and consequently my
own brother's grandfather-in-law."

"You mistake, Mr. Tom. Don't you see that Carry--"

"No mistake at all about it, ma'am, for I've promised to marry your
mother, Mrs. Marrables!"

"Monster!" cried Mrs. Wimbush aloud, and went off shrieking.

The music stopped, and there was a great fuss. But above all the others
was heard the voice of Mrs. Marrables. "Don't be alarmed, pray. She is
subject to it; she went off just like that the other day at a picnic.
Poor young thing, a very little upsets her. Let me come to my little
gu-url, then."

They moved her into another room. Presently Mrs. Wimbush opened her
eyes. "Mother! how dare you come near me! Go away, do! You ought to be
ashamed of yourself, at your time of life!"

"My time of life! Why, I'm only fifty-four--about ten years older than
Tom. How can you talk so to your mother!"

"Mother, if you don't leave the room, I will. It's really disreputable
to have you for a mother. You've never done me any credit."

"My dear, I am so glad to think you feel well enough to leave the room
that I will remain."

Mrs. Wimbush got up and went home.

Jilted, first for her daughter, and next for her mother! This was too
much. Mrs. Wimbush went to church as regularly as any one, but revenge,
after all, is very sweet.

Six weeks afterward Mrs. Wimbush recovered sufficient fortitude to go
and call on her mother.

"Well, child, I'm glad you are going to be friendly; there is nothing
like harmony in a family circle. Let us consider the relationships into
which we are about to enter, that we may rightly judge of our
responsibilities and duties. I and my granddaughter are going to marry
two brothers--the consequence is, she and I will be sisters-in-law. But
as you are mother of my sister-in-law, you will nearly be my
mother-in-law, which is a very singular relationship for a daughter to
sustain toward her mother, especially when she is not the wife of one's
father-in-law. Now, as"--

"Wait a moment, dear mamma; I've news for you; I'm going to marry old
Unguent! Old Mr. Brookshank has asked me to be his wife, and I've
consented. The consequence is, I shall be head of the family, and
bona-fide mother-in-law to you all. I don't think we need trouble about
harmony, for we shall be a united family, more so than any I know of."

Before her marriage, Mrs. Marrables set to work to draw up a table of
the relationships involved by the three weddings. It is an extensive
work in three volumes, and when our readers see The Brookshank Family
advertised, they will know what it means.

* * * * *

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HUMOUROUS

[Illustration]

THE CARPENTER'S WOOING.

"Oh, beam my life, my awl to me!"
He cried, his flame addressing--
"If I 'adze such a love as yours,
I'd ask no other blessing!"
"I am rejoist to hear you speak,"
The maiden said with laughter--
"For tho' I hammer guileless girl,
It's plane what you are rafter.
Now if file love you just a bit,
What further can you ax me?
Can--will you be content with that,
Or will you further tacks me?"
He looked handsaw her words were square--
"No rival can displace me--
Yes, one more favor I implore,
And that is, dear Em, brace me!"

She came full chisel to his arms;
It really made him stair
To have her make a bolt for him
Before he could prepare.
He tried to screw his courage up,
And did his level best
To nail the matter then and there,
While clasped unto her breast.
Says he: "It augers well for me,
All seems to hinge on this;
And, what is mortise plane to see
The porch child wants a kiss."
He kissed her lip, he kissed her cheek,
And called her his adoored--
He dons his claw-hammer next week,
And she will share his board.

_--Detroit Free Press._

WHERE THE OLD MAIDS COME IN.

"Do you know, sir," inquired an American tourist of his companion, while
doing England, "can you inform me the reason for the fresh, healthful
appearance of the English people? Their complexion is far superior to
ours, or our countrymen over the herring pond."

"Well, I know what Prof. Huxley says."

"And what reason does he advance?"

"Well, Huxley says it is owing to the old maids."

"Owing to old maids! You surprise me."

"Fact. Huxley figures it out this way. Now, you know the English are
very fond of roast beef."

"But what has that to do with old maids?"

"Go slow. This genuine English beef is the best and most nutritious beef
in the world, and it imparts a beautiful complexion."

"Well, about the old maids?"

"Yes, you see the excellence of this English beef is due exclusively to
red clover. Do you see the point?"

"All but the old maids. They are still hovering in the shadows."

"Why, don't you see? This red clover is enriched, sweetened, and
fructified by bumble bees."

"But where do the old maids come in?" said the inquisitive American,
wiping his brow wearily.

"Why, it is as plain as the nose on your face. The only enemy of the
bumble bee is the field-mouse."

"But what have roast beef, red clover, bumble-bees, and field-mice got
to do with old maids?"

"Why, you must be very obtuse. Don't you perceive that the bumble-bees
would soon become exterminated by the field-mice if it were not for--"

"Old maids?"

"No, if it were not for cats, the old maids of Old England keep the
country thoroughly stocked up with cats, and so we can directly trace
the effects of the rosy English complexions to the benign cause of
English old maids, at least that's what Huxley says about it, and that's
just where the old maids come in. Science makes clear many mysterious
things."

* * * * *

"Those picture cards I brought back from Boston," remarked Mrs.
Partington, in a pensive mood. "They are momentums of the Art Loan
Imposition."

Don't give up in despair, girls. Naomi didn't marry until she was five
hundred and eighty years old--and then she was sorry she hadn't waited a
century longer.

"Is you gwine to get an overcoat this winter?" asked a darkey of a
companion. "Well I dunno how dat's gwine to be," was the reply. "I'se
done got my eye on a coat, but de fellah dat owns it keeps his eye on it
too."

Her nephew had just come home from his day school. "What have you been
learning this morning?" asked Mrs. Ramsbottom. "Mythology, aunt,"
answered the little man, "all about the heathen gods and goddesses."
"Then I must brush up my memory," said Mrs. Ramsbottom, "and ask you a
question or two. Now, first, who was Juniper?"

"What is a limited monarchy, Johnny?" "Well, my idea of a
limited monarchy is, where the ruler don't have much to rule." "Give an
example?" "An example! Lemme see! Well, if you was bossin' yourself, for
instance."

It was at the close of the wedding breakfast. One of the guests
arose, and, glass in hand, said: "I drink to the health of the
bridegroom. May he see many days like this." The intention was good, but
the bride looked as though something had displeased her.

* * * * *

ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILROAD.

The elegant equipment of coaches and sleepers being added to its various
through routes is gaining it many friends. Its patrons fear no
accidents. Its perfect track of steel, and solid road-bed, are a
guarantee against them.

* * * * *

THE PRAIRIE FARMER

AND

YOUTH'S COMPANION

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