^856.] Eate Osborne. 



191 



engine. Well, let's see—' conquest of Trojan's heart '—what's a Trojan ? 

 some kind of North Eiver fish I reckon : ' gentleman '-hem ! ' agreeable ' 

 —eh? ^Law School '—a journeyman lawyer! I knew 'twas ^a fish, a 

 land shark ! ' devoted '— ' attentions '— ' attachment '— ' break it up '— 

 yes, by zangs ! (farmer Osborne never swore — never used profane 

 language— never !) A lazy Yankee pettifogger, courtincj my Kate^ 

 'Break it up?' yes; zangs— I'll smash /.m up ! Kate shaU come home I 

 ' yes, Katy, I'll write soon ! ' And jumping up from his seat, and striding 

 to the end of the porch, he shouted " Peter ! Peter ! " in the voice of a 

 Stentor, that went rolling for a mile over the prairie. Peter came : '■ here, 

 Peter," said the farmer, " ride to the post office, and take this letter— oh,' 

 ah — zangs! 'taint written yet! Well, run, get the horse— run ! why 

 don't you run ! " And going within, he prepared, without much delay, 

 a letter that needed no postscript to interpret its meaning ; it ran 

 thus : 



GrRASSY Grove, Illinois, May 21 — 1853. 

 Kate — Come Home. 



Yours to sarve, 



J. W. Osborne. 



With this epistle so fall of -pith and moment," and whose brevity 

 excelled even the tri-worded dispatch of C^sar, Peter did run ; for the 

 Farmer's unwonted energy and excitement seemed to signify that a literal 

 compliance with his orders in this particular was quite judicious ; and 

 soon the mandatory missive was speeding onward toward the Hudson. 



What a " muddle " is a mail has ! 



The last days of the flowering month of May were yet lingering as. 

 though loth to exchange their beauty and their brightness for th'^e " leafy 

 month of June." It was evening ; the balmy air was redolent with the 

 mingled fragrance from ten thousand buds and blossoms. In the hand 

 some parlor of Mrs. Sinclair were seated our Trojan trlo-the widow 

 Kate, and Mr. Henry Clinton. An air of neatness and comfort, rather 

 than of elegance, pervaded the apartment ; and the toilets of the ladies 

 partook of the same characteristic. The widow, though palo, was, never- 

 theless, lovely ; Kate was beautiful, and well became the soubriquet of 

 -Irairie Flower," which her school-mates had bestowed upon her; and 

 Henry Clinton was a fine, intelligent, manly looking fellow. Such was 

 the group gathered about the center table on the evening in question; 

 all looked happy, though the widow was pensive. The ladies' hands 



