The St. Cloud journal. [volume] (St. Cloud, Minn.) 1866-1876, 1875-04-22
THE B0TrT1oN- ROSE.
CHAPTER I.

taste for flowers" To be sure, my cot
tage home is half buried in tall shrubs,
some Of which are Towering, and some
are not. A giant woodbine has wrap
ped the whole front in its rich green
mantle; and the porch is rooted and
the windows curtained with luxuriant
honeysuckles and climbing wild-roses.
But, though Ihave tried for it many
times, I never yet had successful
bed Of flowers. My next neighbor,
Mrs. Smith, is "a lady of great taste;;"
and when sheleads me proudly through
her trim alleys edged with box, and
displays her hyacinths and tulips, her
heliotropes, cactuses, and gladioluses,
her choice roses, $50 extremely
double" and all the rare plants which
adorn her parterre, I conclude 1t must
be that I have no taste at all. l beg
her to save me seeds and bulbs, get
fresh directions for laying down, and
inoculating, grating, and potting, and
60 home with my head full of improve
ments. But the next summer comes
round with no change, except that the
old denizens of the soil like my
maids and my children) have grown
more wild and audacious than ever,
and I find no place for beds of flow
ers. 1 must en- give it up; I have
no taste for flowers, in the common
sense of the words. In fact, they
awaken in me no sentiment, no asso-
Citations, as they stand, marshalled for
show, "in beds and curious knots :"
and I do not like the care of them.
But there was one flower and I
must confess that I made acquaint-
ance with it in a garden, but at an
age when I thought all things grew
out Of the blessed earth of their own
sweet ll,-which, as it is the first I
remember to have loved, has main-
tanned the right Of priority in my at:
fections to this day. It was Button
Rose Of the smallest species, the out
spread blossom scarce exceeding in
size shilling-piece. 1t stood in my
grandfather's garden,-that garden
which, at my first sight of it, Il was
then about five years old,> seemed to
me boundless in extent, and beautiful
beyond aught that I had seen or
thought before. 1t was a large, old
fashioned kitchen-garden, adorned
and enriched, however, as then the
custom was, with flowers and fruit
trees. Several fine old pear-trees and
a few of the choicest varieties Of plum
and cherry were scattered over it
currants and gooseberries lined the
fences; the main alley, running
through its whole extent, was thickly
bordered by lilacs, syringas, and roses,
with many snowy flowers inter-
mixed, and terminated in averypleas.
ant grape arbor. Behind this rose a
steep green hill covered with an apple.
orchard, through which little thread
Of a footpath wound up to another
which stood on the summit relieved
against the sky. It was butlittle after
sunrise, the first morning Of my visit,
when I timidly opened the garden
gate and stood in full view of these
glories. All was dewy, glittering
fragrant, musical as a morn in Eden.
For while I stood still, in a kind Of
enchantment. Venturing, at length, a
few steps forward, gazing eagerly
| from side to side, I was suddenly ar
| rested by the most marvellously beau
tiful object my eyes had ever SEEM
no other than the little Button .Ros'
of our story! So small, 50 perfect ! L
filled my infant sense with its lowell
ness. 1t grew in very pretty chin'
vase, as if more precious than th
other flowers. Several blossoms wer
fully expanded, and many tiny bud
were showing their crimson tips. As
stood lost in rapture over this littl
miracle of beauty, a humming-bird
the smallest of its fairy tribe, darte
into sight, and hung for an instan1
it's ruby crest and green and golde
plumage flashing in the sun, over m
new-found treasure.
But, dear as the Button-Rose is t
my memory, should hardly think {
obtruding it on the notice Of other
were it not for little tale of huma
interest connected with it. While
4 vet stood motionless in the ecstasy (
I my first wonder, a young man an
'sfwoman entered the garden, 2chattin