Well!--A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land-- "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"-- And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."-- I'd never been West, anyhow--a most too wild fer _me_ I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town Said I'd find myself mistakened when I come to look around. So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again-- And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, I think it's more'n likely she'd a-went along with me! Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last; And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' _I_ was a train O' cars, and _skeered_ at sompin', runnin' down a country lane! Well, in the mornin' airly--after huntin' up the man-- The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land-- We started fer the country; and I ast the history Of the farm--its former owner--and so-forth, etcetery! And--well--it was inte_rest_in'--I su'prised him, I suppose, By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!-- But his surprise was greater, and it made him wonder more, When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the door!-- _It was Mary:_ They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here-- Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.-- It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about it yit! I _bought_ that farm, and _deeded_ it, afore I left the town, With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! And fu'thermore, I took her and _the childern_--fer, you see, They'd never seed their Grandma--and I fetched 'em home with me. So _now_ you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more, Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!--And I've jest come into town To git a pair o' license fer to _marry_ Mary Brown. [Illustration] THE ROSE It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving trees With a passion all in vain,-- For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, And hid in the leaves in wait for me. The honey-bee came there to sing His love through the languid hours, And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king Might boast of his palace-towers: But my rose bowed in a mockery, And hid in the leaves in wait for me.