Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1855-02-15
The White Rose.
BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.

BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.
She was sweet child, little Emma Willis.
and her face shone like some rare old picture
out of its world Of golden hair, and her young
widowed mother folded her to her heart, and
blessed the Great Father that Enna's hair
and eyes were like those that had lain ever
since the early June time under the white
shroud plaits.
Look. mamma, its leaves are beginning to
unfold. and it will be entirely opened by New
party and Emma lifted her fair, eager face
from the flower, whose snowy petals were
just breaking through their sheath Of green
That winter rose-bush was a gift from Emma 5
father, and it was his last one No wonder
l,he child loved it.
Yes, darling, you shall wear it, twined
right here in this bunch of curls, and the small
fingers lifted the bright tresses teuderly from
Emma $ forehead, while the mothetfs pensive
features reflected somewhat Of the light in her
child's
Every day, every hour, Emma watched it as
miser watches his gold. Every day the
large creamy-looking petals curled outwards,
and lay in exquisite contrast with the world Of
green leaves amid which the flowers beauti-
ful life was opening.
Do you want 10 come in and see my rose,
little boyl'
Emma was returning from school that afier-
noon when her eyes first rested upon the child
He was standing before the window in whose
embrasure her mother had placed the exotic,
that the pale winter sunbeams might grant it
brief visit. The boys large, mournful eyes
were fastened eagerly on the large blossom,
for it was now only two days before New
Years. His clothes were greatly worn, and
patched with many colors, but Emma did not
mind that-she only saw the eager light in
those large brown eyes.
Then you love flowers, do you, my child Z
said Enna's mother, in her soft tones, as they
all three stood before the plant
oh yes, MAJ am; but not so well as Mary
does. was thinking when stood out there
on the pavement, looking at it, if Mary could
only see it,
Who is Mary! Can't you bring her
here = asked Emma eagerly
Nor said the boy, shaking his head
mournfully. Mary is my sister, and she is
sick. Mamma says she cannot live much
longer. and at night, in her dreams, she talks
about the white roses that grew so thick in the
low meadows, Just west Of where we used to
live. They were Just like those, and Mary
used to weave wreaths of them every May.
Oh dear, if she could only see it,.
Mamma, whispered Enna, while her blue
eyes were moist with tears, and she pulled
mothers dress please give the rose TO the
little boy for his sick sister; do no; want it
now
MY good child and the mothers tremu-
lous lips dropped to Enua's forehead, God
will reward you for this!'
| DO You mean it. ma am do you really
mean that shall take this to Maryl' ques-
toned the child, while his deep eyes grew ra-
diant with JOY, as Mrs. Willis placed the
precious branch in his hand. Oh how glad
she will be, and at the thought of his sisters
great delight, the little heart gave way, and
tears dashed over the boys brown lashes.
1t was New Years night. Very beautiful
looked Emma Willis in her pink dress and
shining hair, amid which her mothers tasteful
fingers had twined few green leaves, as she
put up her little ripe lips for parting kiss,
before she started for her schoolmaie's soiree.
AT that moment the door opened, and the
little stranger boy entered. His face was very
white as he glided up to Mrs. Willis, and
said -
Mary is dying, and she has sent for the
little girl who gave her the white rose
Please, ma am, may she come, and you will
come with heri'
I've brought them, Mary, I've brought
them!' cried the boy eagerly, as he usheret