"Gin ye was driven ye wouldna' move, Too stubborn to even fa' in luve!

"Like a' the Campbells, ye'll hae your way-- Your mither has hers every day.

"'Tis prood ye should be, upon my word, Tak' time to yoursel' and thank the Lord

For plans that gat ye a bonny bride-- An' heaps o' wardly gear beside."

Ah! thankful enough was Neil that day-- Joy flashed in his eager eyes of gray.

'Twas not for the land, not for the gold, Not for the flocks that slept in fold,

Not for the wealth--the worldly gear-- But something wonderful, sweet and dear.

"Thank heaven," he cried, with a glow and thrill, "Thank heaven for the day I rode to mill!"

THE OLD MAN'S VISIT.

Joe lives on the farm, and Sam lives in the city, I haven't a daughter at all--more's the pity, For girls, to my mind, are much nicer and neater; Not such workers as boys, but cuter and sweeter.

Sam has prospered in town, has riches a-plenty, Big house, fine library--books written by Henty, And Kipling, and Cooper, and all those big writers-- Swell pictures and busts of great heroes and fighters.

His home is a fine one from cellar to garret, But not to my notion--in fact, I can't bear it.

I'm not hard to please, but of all things provoking Is a woman around who sniffs when you're smoking.

Last springtime Sam said: "Now, Father, how is it I can't coax you oftener up on a visit?"

I couldn't think up any plausible reason, So off I went with him to stop for a season.

Sam said with a laugh as we stepped from the ferry, "You won't mind my wife; she's particular, very."

It wasn't like home, that house in the city, Our Sam took his fun at the club--more's the pity.

It is in his own house, when he has the leisure, A man should find comfort and freedom and pleasure.

It wasn't so bad for me in the daytime, Sam took me all over and made it a playtime; But evenings were awful--we sat there so proper, While Sam's wife, if n.o.body came in to stop her, Read history to us, or, column by column, A housekeeping journal, or other dry volume.

I used to wish someone would give me a prodding, My eyes would go shut and head fall a-nodding.

She's an awful good housewife, nothing gets musty, Or littered about, or untidy, or dusty; But a little disorder never did fret me, And these perfect women they always upset me.

I can stand her dusting, her shining, her poking, But wilt like a leaf when she sniffs when I'm smoking.

I got so blamed homesick I couldn't be jolly; I wanted our Joe, and his little wife, Molly, My old corner at home, and all the old places; I wanted the youngsters--who cared if their faces Were smeared up a trifle? I didn't, a penny.

Molly tends to 'em, though she has so many.

I was tickled to death when I got a letter From Joe, which ran: "Dear Dad, I think you had better Get back to the farm in pretty short order.

Molly's papered your room and put on a border; The baby, she says, has two new teeth to show you-- If you don't hustle back the dear thing won't know you.

She says to inform you that Bob, Sue, and Mary Are good as can be, but your namesake's contrary, Wants granddaddy's story, and granddaddy's ditty-- And granddaddy off on a trot to the city."

I packed my belongings. They tried to dissuade me-- Sam's wife said so proper: "I'm really afraid we Have not succeeded in our entertaining."

"Oh, yes!" said I--some things won't stand much explaining.

She really meant well, but of all things provoking Is a woman so perfect she sniffs when you're smoking.

I was glad to get home; it made me quite silly To hear the loud whinny of Starling and Billy; And here was the farm with its orchards and meadows, The big maple trees all throwing their shadows, The stubble-fields yellow, the tall stacks of clover, The wag of the stub of a tail on old Rover.

And here came dear Mary, her hat on her shoulder, With Sue trying hard to catch her and hold her; Here came Tommy and Joe, always foot in their cla.s.ses, And Bob, with his features all crumbs and mola.s.ses, Carrying a basin with fishworms and dirt in-- Oh, that scalawag, Bob, I'm morally certain Is a chip of the old block--it just seemed to strike me They'd named the boy rightly, for he was so like me-- All laughing and calling: "Here's grandpa to play with!"

And Bob supplementing: "And sleep 'ith and _stay_ 'ith!"

And then such a hugging, with Molly behind me, The tears came so fast that they threatened to blind me.

My heart overflowed with sorrow and pity For the boy I had left back there in the city.

His lot is a hard one--indeed, I'm not joking-- He lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking.

The supper we had, sir, and when it was over The walk round the homestead close followed by Rover, Who's most like a human. You'd fancy him saying: "See those stacks? Oh, yes, we have finished the haying!

That colt should be broken. Old friend, I'd just mention This farm stands in need of our closest attention."

And when, the lamp lighted, with Mary's beside me, The boys at my feet, and Bob up astride me, I felt like a king--I really can't write it-- Molly must take my pipe and fill it and light it, Then plump herself down in her own little rocker For a visit with me. Oh, she is a talker Worth the listening to. The threshing was over, Joe had got ten dollars a ton for the clover, Deacon Hope had had a sharp tiff with the preacher Over immersion, and the pretty school-teacher Intended to marry--resigned her position.

Yes, most of the church folks had signed the pet.i.tion Against granting a license to Baker's saloon, The Thanksgiving service would be coming on soon, The neighbors were hearty, had every one missed me-- Right here Molly stood on her tip-toes and kissed me.

Sho! Sam's wife is handsome and cultured and clever, But she's not the woman that Molly is--never.

Molly's smile is so kind, and her hair is so glossy, Her brown eyes look at you so sweet and so saucy!

Yes, Joe's richer than Sam, though Joe's but a farmer, For his home atmosphere is brighter and warmer.

Sam has lots of money, there's no use denying; Has made himself wealthy, and that without trying; But what chance has a man--indeed, I'm not joking-- Who lives with a woman who sniffs when he's smoking!

JACK.

Jack's dead an' buried; it seems odd, A deep hole covered up with sod Lyin' out there on the hill, An' Jack, as never could keep still, A sleepin' in it. Jack could race, And do it at a good old pace, Could sing a song, an' laugh so hard That I could hear him in our yard When he was half a mile away.

Why, not another boy could play Like him, or run, or jump so high, Or swim, no matter how he'd try; An' I can't get it through my head At all, at all, that Jack is dead.

Jack's mother didn't use to be So awful good to him and me, For often when I'd go down there On Sat.u.r.days, when it was fair, To get him out to fish or skate, She'd catch me hangin' round the gate And look as cross as some old hen, An' tell me, "Go off home again.

It's not the thing for boys," she'd say, "A hangin' round the creek all day; You go off home and do your task-- No, Jack can't go, you needn't ask."

And when he got in sc.r.a.pes, why, she Would up and lay it on to me, An' wish I lived so far away Jack couldn't see me every day.

But last night when I'd done the ch.o.r.es It seemed so queer-like out of doors, I kept a listenin' all the while, An' looking down the street a mile; I couldn't bear to go inside, The house is lonesome since he died.

The robber book we read by turns Is lyin' there--an' no boy learns All by himself, 'cause he can't tell How many words he'll miss or spell, Unless there's some one lookin' on To laugh at him when he gets done.

An' neighbor women's sure to come A visitin' a feller's home, An' talkin', when they look at me, 'Bout how thick us two used to be, A stealin' off from school, an' such, An' askin' do I miss him much, 'Till I sneak off out doors--you see, They just can't let a feller be!

Well, I walked down the road a bit.

Smith's dog came out. I throwed at it, An', do you know, it never howled Same as it always did, or growled; It seemed to say, "Why, Jim's alone!

I wonder where's that other one?"

Afore I knew it I was down 'Way at the other end of town, A hangin' round in the old way For someone to come out and play.

There wasn't no one there to look, So I slipped into our old nook.

I found his knife down in the gra.s.s Where we'd been Zulus at the pa.s.s.

The can of bait, the hook and line Were lyin' with the ball of twine, An' "Jim," I seemed to hear him say, "The fish will suffer some to-day."

'Twas more than I could stand just then; I got up to go off home, when Someone kissed me on the cheek, An' hugged me so I couldn't speak.

You wouldn't believe it, like as not, But 'twas Jack's mother, an' a lot Of great big tears came stealin' down Right on my face. She didn't frown A single bit--kept sayin' low, "My blue-eyed boy, I loved you so!"

Of course, I knew just right away That she meant Jack. My eyes are gray, But Jack, he had the bluest eyes, Blue like you see up in the skies, An' shine that used to come and go-- One misses eyes like his, you know.

An' by-an'-by she up an' tried To tell me that she'd cried an' cried A thinkin' of the times that she Had scolded Jack an' scolded me, An' other things that I won't tell To anyone, because--Oh, well, Boys can't do much, but they can hold Tight on to secrets till they're old.

She's Jack's relation, that's why she Feels kind of lovin' like to me.

But when she called me her own lad, Oh, say, I felt just awful bad; My head it went round in a whirl-- I up an' cried just like a girl.

But say, if Jack could see us two He'd laugh a little, don't you know; For if I'd ever brag around That I'd lick some one safe an' sound, He'd laugh an' say, "Jim, hold your jaw!

You know you're scared to death of maw."