Accepted of the bashful young man's plea,

And named the happy day. The awe-struck father
Thought, "Well, he walks not blindly, and he'll see
The troublous bag of nettles love may gather."
And so the marriage was. The bridegroom sat
Alone with the fair bride whose wits were kindling
For the first wifely storm. With voice irate
The bashful young man with a frown undwindling,
Remembering Don Crambo's kind advice

To prefer cold rather than hot water,

Cried, "Water, ho!" in voice as cold as ice.

"Ho, and be blessed," returned her mother's daughter.

Unto the mastiff in the ante-room

Cried the young man, "Ho, water!-fetch cold water!" The dog, of course, fetched not. It sealed his doomHis master ran, his sword unsheathed for slaughter, Dispatched the beast with most unlooked-for ire, Hacked at the corpse, and then, quite warm and bloody, Resumed his seat beside the bride whose fire

Now might oceans heat. That understood he,

For in a warming voice he called unto

Her little lap-dog, "Fetch me, cur, cold water!"
Which being unfetched, he seized the dog and threw
It from the window, dead. The lady caught her
Breath. The bashful young man hotly glared
About him, saw his steed outside the portal;
"Cold water!" blared he, and the horse but stared,
When up then started that most bashful mortal,
And fell upon the courser, hacked and hewed ;
The courser was a corse-of course, it would be,-
Resumed his seat beside the bride who shewed
A new restraint almost as much as should be.
On her the bashful young man cast his eye-

"Cold water!" roared he in a voice of thunder. "With thanks, my lord," cried she all tremblingly, And went and fetched it, too far gone to wonder.

And so 'twas every day for a full week.

Then came the father of the shrewish daughter, Expecting a dead son-in-law, his cheek

Milky. He found the bride like milk and water.

The bridegroom was there too, and told the Don How he the blissful change had soon effected"We'll be a happy couple yet, upon

My word," he said "the fates have so elected.” Home hied Don Crambo, his old face aglow.

He found his wife quite boiling, ready for him. He glared around; there munching grass below Was the good steed that here and there e'er bore him.

"Cold water!" roared he, as his son-in-law

Had told him he had done. The horse unheeding, He rushed upon it with his sword at draw,

And slew the patient beast that stood there feeding.

And then he felt a stinging box upon

His ear, 'twas followed quickly by another, And there beside him was not the law's son,

But just the boiling son-in-law's wife's mother.

"Don't try that on with me," fumed she. "I am
Too used to you for novelties. The leather
Of the horse will make a cowhide. Make it, Cram!"
And so he did, remarking on the weather.

HIS MOTHER'S COOKING.-LIZZie M. Hadley.

He sat at the dinner table there,
With a discontented frown;

The potatoes and steak were underdone,
And the bread was baked too brown.

The pie too sour, the pudding too sweet,
And the roast was much too fat;

The soup so greasy, too, and salt,
'Twas hardly fit for the cat.

"I wish you could eat the bread and pies

I've seen my mother make;

They are something like, and 'twould do you good

Just to look at a loaf of her cake."

Said the smiling wife, "I'll improve with age;

Just now I'm but a beginner;

But your mother has come to visit us,

And to-day she cooked the dinner."

-Good Housekeeping.

SHALL BESS COME HAME?*-FRED EMERSON BROOKS.

[COPYRIGHT, 1887.]

"Pray tell me where ye've been sae lang, guid Nan,

Hae ye been aff to town withoot yer man?"

"Ah, John, and can ye ask where I hae been-
Where should a mither go but to her kin?"

"What, to the bairn that's gi'en o'er to ill-
How could ye bear to gang against my will?"
"By life-lang watch-care doth a mither earn
The right, nae matter where, to seek her bairn!"
"That's true, guid Nan, I hae nae fau't agin ye,
Except the ower-lovin' heart that's in ye;

"That takes ye oot o'doors to succor sin;
Wi' De'il ootside ye'd better stay within.
"A faither once forsaken by his ain—
His tender heart as quickly turns to stane;

"As ower the garden wa' I throw the weed,
I cast her forth nae matter how ye plead!"

"Yer stubborn mind, John, turns your heart to scorn-
Ye've thrown awa' the plant and left the thorn!

"Why, vices are but virtues playin' traitor;
Man but the tainted stamp o' his Creator!

66 Was not the De'il an angel once himsel'?
Had he no played the traitor he'd na fell!

"Mang those o'er-righteous Jews, Christ found not one
Who dared to raise the hand or cast a stone;

"Not only uncondemned but a' forgiv'n,
Was human frailty by the Lord o' heaven.

"Take hame the truth for ye can ill afford
To be more unforgivin' than your Lord;
"To shut the door o' mercy is na well,
Ye shut the door o' heaven agin yersel'!"

"Guid Nan, yer speeches mak' my heart full sair,

I do forgive, I pray ye say nae mair!"

*From "California Ballads, by Fred Emerson Brooks," and used here by special permission.

"To say ye will forgive and na forget,
Is holdin' mair than half yer anger yet.
""Tis in the night wi' other senses still,
The heart will speak and speak withoot the will;
"I heard ye in yer sleep the ither night
A-talkin' what ye felt wi' a' yer might;

"Yer will had gane to sleep wi' bitter word;
Yer heart unguarded spake and this I heard:
"Come back, my pretty bairn, where'er ye be→
Yer broken-hearted faither's callin' ye!

"Yer heart sobbed oot the truth yer will denied,
And spake wi' tears, for a' the night ye cried.
"Wi' that I sought the lass in yonder town,
Where that smooth city chap had set her down!
"Couldst see her, John, as soon I hope ye may,
Ye wouldna hae the heart to turn away;

"For on my neck the lass did sob and moan:
‘O mither, mither, had I only known!

"I didna know the things were wrong,' said she, 'The pleasing stranger sweetly said to me!'

"She sits and thinks, and weepin' wi' her thought, Bewails a fault because she was untaught."

"To think, guid Nan, that we should raise a daughter Το gang amiss for a' that we hae taught her."

"The fault's our ain, dear John, we must admit; To see a danger's half avoidin' it:

"We taught her what was right, but a' along
We never told the lass just what was wrong."

"Ah, Nan, that a' the preachers had yer skill
To bring sae muckle guid from every ill!
"Now look ye, wife, this makes me doubly sad:
She slighted Reuben, sic an honest lad!"

"Ah, John, he's kinder to yer bairn than you;
"Twas he that took me to her, he that knew;
"He ne'er gave ower searchin' a' aboot-
'Twas only love like his could search her oot."

"If that be true, and I doubt na the same,
Where'er she be our Bess sha' soon come hame!

Why Nan, if Reuben love her as at first,
I fear the faither's heart wi' joy will burst."
"Ah, John, he loves her mair than I can tell,-
He's comin' noo to say as much himsel'!"

For Bess and Reuben had been waiting there
At open door behind the old man's chair.
"Ah, Reuben, Reuben, welcome, welcome boy!
Ye rob me o' my grief wi' double joy!

"I was intent upon the mither's talk,
And didna hear ye comin' up the walk;

"Or were ye standin' quiet there ootside, To hear the mither pleadin' for yer bride?

"I know ye've come to ask me for my BessDon't say me nay, 'twould leave her faitherless

"To rob me o' my joy-I couldna bear To sink again into my old despair!

"How can an old man keep his will at a' Wi' coaxin' wife and sic a son-in-law?

"For that I'll mak' ye 'fore anither day And gie the lass nae chance to run away. "But she'll na run away agin frae you One taste o' grief for sic as Bess will do!

"For a' the woe she'll better love the weal,
And truer be for havin' seen the De'il!

"I'll to the town and fetch the wanderin' one,
Then gie the farm and Bess for sic a son.
"When I hae brought her let nae tear be seen,
And speak nae censure for she comes forgi'en.

"Before I gang we'll pray the Lord above
To gie me back my ain,-my Bessie's love."

177

He closed his eyes as blue-bells close at ev'n,
And calmly raised his sunbrown face toward heaven

To plead more earnestly "wi' Him aboon,"

Or else to keep the tears from "tricklin' doon:"