The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1875-08-26
Ny Wife's Nose.
Rose Terry Cooke, in Harper's Bazar.

nose was large, it is true, and peculiar, but
she had lovely gray eyes, with dark lashes,
darker than her nut-broWn hair, 4 sweet.
mSchicvous, sensitive mouth. and \ skin
of rose leaves Still think should have
loved her if she had been positively ugly.
There was that in her face which tram
scended AL its form of coloring there
was a-Goodness | always was fool
about Nanny, and here am demonstrate
ing it in print. Nanon Clement had French
blood in her veins; her me came from
Il Breton grandmother. Certainly she
showed her race in the grace Of her
bright, sweet manner, the sparkle Of her
conversation, the taste of her dress; per
haps She showed it in her nose
After she condescended to marry me,
we went on the conventional bridal tour.
! cannot say that travelling was alto
gether blisstul to Nan, now that | look
back on that Journey, but was too hap
py to notice her small peculiarities then
When we came home we went to a hotel,
till our house should be built Nan was
passionately fond Of flowers, and our
friends sent them in 10 us daily--a sort Of
bridal Offering paid to our new lite and
our hotel life. Since we had no garden.
and Nanon loved flowers so dearly, these
good people supplied her gladly. 1t was
spring, too, and every garden in the town
bloomed and perfumed the air. At first
we had sweet yiolets and mignonettes
from the conservatories. and my wife
hung over them like Il honey-bee.
liked to see her large sensitive nostrils
lllate with the delicate odor. forgot that
her nose was not Grecian or piquant when
it became so expressive. | have seen it
dilate equally with scorn or anger. In
fact this little woman's flesh always
seemed TO be a sort OF veil to her soul,
nothing more. II it was pretty with the
bloom Of youth and It's roundneSs, that
was a separate matter. Her Esprit DER
informed is clay" always But some
times this matter OF the nose astonShed
me then; it has astonishcd me a great
many times since.
One day somebody sent US such su-
perb basket Of hyacinths. The crisp trans
lucent spires of bells were softly crowded
together, their Yemal tints contrasteu and
defined by the contact. There was the
very clouded pink of early dawn, the sill
very saffron Of sunrise, the deep and
stormy rose-tint of Il sunset after tenn
I't9l' tllt I'ttilhi ittiitllS bltiS vi ~ II
skies, the deep azure Of midsummer
noon, the snoW-bells that seemed CHS
elled from misty alabaster, and the real
hyacinthne purple. No other flower
offers such delicate. such exquisite tints
and texture, tor the texture is the secret
of the tint thought Nan would be com
pletcly oyerioyed. | carried the slight
straw basket that held them, deep bedded
in damp green moss, to our parlor, and
set il ON the shining surface OF Il table
that was topped with black marble The
polished surface gave back faint reflex Of
the tint that hung over it. The whole
made a picture.
sat down in the window to wait Tor
my wife, who had gone out shopping.
wanted to see her look Of delight as she
came in Presently the door opened.
Her quick eye caug ght the group OF bios
SONS at once. and kndled with admira-
ton. Her nose quivered Il little. like the
nostrils OF ahighbred horse that perceiyes
something doubtful in his path; q look
of pale disgust swept over her delicate
bloom. She pressed her handkerchief to
her lace with u slight shudder, stepped
quickly forward, grasped all those beau
teous bells in her long, white fingers, and
threw them out Of the window.
was Mortified. What did it mean?
Nan" said |, "what is the matter?
Why did you throw those lovely things
out OF the window ?"
''Oh. Jack. can't bear the smell; they
are sickening.'
" Sckening. Why, they We're deli
cious; and such splendid specimens; all
from the best Dutch bulbs, and old Mrs.
Hermann sent them to you"
II can't help it; if they came from the
angel Gabriel | should send them out of
girls reply. And | want to tell you,
Jack, don't ever bring in to me that hor
rid brown thing you call strawberry plant,
or syringa blossoms, OF one narcissus. |
hate them they choke and nauseate me-"
This was queer to be sure, but no spe
ciai matter We have our own tastes in
flowers, all of us; |, tor my part, would
us soon have a yellow dog without Il tail
about the house as an althea bush under
the window; marigolds are an abomina-
ton, and phloXes a disgust to ne pre-
fer q srlnilower to peony, and an ana
tomical preparation to hydrangea; SO !
thought no more about the hyacnths
But before long l began to find, when
| came home from business, that all the
winds Of heaven were often blowing
through my wife's parlor, and she her
self, wrapped in Il shawl, sitting in the
full draught Naturally | demonstrated
NANNY dear, you will catch cold"
"Oh, no; and if do, it is better than
this horrid smell"
81 don't smell anything.n
"Why, Mrs. Brown has been here to
call, SO scented with musk could scarce
ly be civil to herr
Or perhaps Mrs. Peters had been odor-
Gus of milletleurs, or Mr. Green of pat
chouli. The only perfume Nan could en-
dure was German Cologne, and that only
of one particular brand. | began to pity
my wife she could describe the hotel
dinner daily before our fluent waiter rat
tied off the list, nay, before we reached
the dining room, from her powers of
smell alone. She could tell that our
washerwoman had flied cakes on ironing
day from the odor of the clothes, and
Mrs. Sullivan had her ideas enlarged on
the subject frequently and persistently
always declaring, and even swearing,
that she ''niver fried a ha'porth av nothin'
whin the clothes was about statement
always quietly ignored by my wife as if
unheard. Then l began to take an inter-
est in the matter physiologically. tried
to class the scents she affected, and evolve
some fundamental reason for the pleasure
they gave her, but there was curious
caprice about them. Why should she
like wall-howers and object to stocks,
except at a distance, saying they had an
under-tone Of raw cabbage? Why did
mignonette, English violets, heliotrope,