The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1876-06-29
For the Press. Af
PERFUMES OF A SUMMERS DAY.

One might think l had chosen a
strange subject upon which to write,
but it is one fraught with many a
thought of the past, present and future.
Coming in weary just now from an
afternoon walk, seated myself in the
broad window seat, where the breeze
had full license to cool my heated face,
and gave myself up to thought which
seems the only occupation one needs
for this warm June day. With song
of birds about me, and the cool aisles
of the maple grove lying just below,
and over all the bright summer sun
shining calm and still, what wonder
if my thoughts take shadowy forms
and are interviewer with images, both
real and ideal. What is that sweet,
intense perfume, which is waited to
me from the pleasant yard below? 1t
brings memory bright and precious
with it, and as inhale again its fra
GRANGE T recognize the old, familiar
perfume of sweet brier. All! how
many thoughts it brings to me with
its aroma, breathing. of all things
quaint and old, this is the memory it
awakens. 1t whispers to me of the
many times, years ago, when little
girl, 1 used to go to the sweet brier
bush at home and pluck it's blushing,
fragrant blossoms. We had large
bush in our yard for many years, but
mith modern innovations "Pater
familias" needs must cut it down, but
in my heart there is nook where that
sweet brier has ever flOurished. and
never see bush now without going
back in thought to those blossoms of
years agone, and to the red buds which
were the fruit of these flowers, and
which were my delight strung on
string for beads. felt prouder when
adorned with those than did ever
Powhattan's daughter when decked in
her most regal robes. And how
comes to me another perfume, faint
and aromatic from the Arbor Vitae
tree, and in a moment l am transport
ed miles away to cemetery lying on
a hill just in the shadow of a pleasant
wood, / am standing by a grave mark
ed by pure marble slab, whereon is
inscribed the name of a much loved
friend, who long ago passed under the
Glow green tent whose curtain never
outward swings" The arbor vitae
shades this grave and keeps a quiet
watch above it. Tree of life, its Ian
guage, unchanging friendship. Look
ing at the world with the eyes of ma
turer years, unchanging friendship
seems almost misnomer, and still
that one lying in the grave yonder
never changed, and the arborvit;e is a
fitting emblem of the life lived. Oh,
how our faith wavers, 1icEers and
then goes quite out in the passing
years, when one after another of those
we loved and trusted fail us, and
prove like the shifting sand, and we
learn contempt for those whom once
no sacrifice would have been too great,
and yet 1 think pity often mingles
with our feelings of contempt-pity
that those gifted with what might
make them good and noble should
turn it to such poor account, and fall
into mere clay when they might al
ways have been idols. Its the old |
story repeated of the servant with the
talents. Unchanging friendship, oh
tree of life, your language must be
false, have no faith in thee. And
still the passion of the world with its
feverish fame can almost
be forgotten in some sweet, secluded
spot, and to-day can forget it all and
say, "I know ye not, have naught to
do with thee" There came just now
a delicate faint perfume from the clus-
ter Of Columbine below, and in fancy
I see southern porch in the Buckeye
State, covered with its clustering ten
drills, whose blood-red bell shaped
flowers glow in the bright sunshine.
Near it see dear friend who battled
with life for few years, and then
passed away to the land of rest. 1
always shall associate her memory
with the honey suckle or columbine.
for she loved her vine SO much. In
looking over the flower and vine
which memory has kept green in my
heart, l find the morning glory shad-
ing my mothers window, which is al
ways so lovely, with its white, purple
and pink blossoms that open and
smile with the morning sun and close
with the noenday heat. love that
dear, old-fashioned vine, and wher-
ever may be in the future years it
will ever retain bright place in my
memory. More than all else can see
the sweet little Morning-G Glory, dear /
err than those outside, come tripping
in with her bright face and CHEEKY
voice. saying, "please grandma, may
l look at your morning-glories p
Aud when answered in the Affirmative |
how the little feet bound to the win |
dow, and the bright eyes feast and fill
with the beauties in bloom, and then |
the little hands reach out aud then
draw back, while the red lips ask,
"please grandma can l pick just a
few" Oh! how blithesome and gay |
the heart when told she can. White,
purple and pink flowers leave their
homes on the climbing vine to grace
the head of the little one. The hands |
are filled to overfowing, or she runs
to show Mama her floral pets. Dear
little Morning-Glory, may God ever
bless you and lead you by "still waters
and in green pastures" and ever pro-
serve you pure as the flower whose
name we stole for YOU,