The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1878-03-06
INC Maniae's LoYe s.Ory.

tober days of 1860 that | reached the
home Of my friend, Arthur Sinclair,
whose house was a very beautiful
old country scat known as "The
Rocks" named because Of the heavy
and high rochsthat lowered far above
the homestead on either side, giving
the place most romantic appear
ance. Just in front of this old Vir-
ginia mansion sloped broad green
meadow, beyond which lay the lin.
pid water of the beautiful valley riy-
er known as tho Shenandoah, at the
base Of the Blue Ridge, whose shad-
ows, falling upon this clear calm
stream, gave to the waters its own
soft color
To the right, as you entered the
gate leading to the house, might be
seen, in this green meadow, the old
family graveyard where mouldered
the bones of those who had laid down
for years in the silent grave, and
whose bodies, according to an old
Virginia custom, were always placed
on their own lands. These family
cemeteries, as in this instance, were
the objects of the greatest care
With the summer. came beautiful
roses, and often rare flowers, bloom
ing above the lowly dead, spreading
their sweet fragrance around their
last resting place; and amid chill
winters rude blasts; and when the
soft white snow shrouded the depart
ed, from the sacred soil the evergreen
often raised its head, speaking Of
everlasting life beyond this vale Of
tears,
The cultivation of flowers is a del
icats pleasure, and whenever seen,
to the refined and lover of the beau.
tiful, brings joy to the heart, and
awa;cns some gentle emotion to
sentiment, Those who have travel
ed much can testify that roso-tree
under the window, or a honey suck
lie over the cottage door, are good
omens to the weary traveller. The
hand that cultivated them isnot clos
cd against the cries Of the poon nor
the wants Of the weary stranger,
Flowers may be called the alphabet
o ~ elsithsthey write
on plains and mountains mysterious
truths, and these truths are never
SO truly spoken or so foelingly re-
ceived as whcn these beautiful mes
sengers come to us.with the spring,
blooming over the silent house Of
some loved friend or relative. 1t is
sweet to think, Though hidden from
our eyes, they are under the daisies
and the roses, and when the latter
drop their leaves and fade and die,
they bloom again So with our cher
ished dead, they too will live and
bloom again in the paradise above,
where no flower perishes, and i'm.
mortality is written as the watch,
word of the gate to future life.
In this enclosure, which l knew
held the remainsofsome ofmy friends
relatives, noticed n white rose.tree
in front of a marble slab, upon which
l read the engraved words:
MARY LINDSAY,
Aged 10.
Blessed are the dead who die in the
Lord.
! did not pause to read more, for
my friend approached me; having
been apprised of my arrival, he hast
ened to meet and welcome me warm
ly, and led me to his mother, q dear
old lady, whose atlectionato greeting
reminded me of my own dear mother.
The tea.table, to which we were
quickly invited, bespoke true Vir-
ginia hospitality, Everything was
upon it to tempt the hungry guest
after long travel. From thence we
proceeded to the parlor, where the
evening passed pleasantly in the re.
fined and cultivated conversation
of Arthur and his lovely sister, whom
| had met before,
When the good-nights were said,
and found myself alone in the cozi-
est of chambers, | felt that l had
found Arthur's home circle all that
he had painted it to me. The next
morning, after breakfast, and II
smoke, enjoyed on the broad portico,
when we fcastod our eyes on the rich
and expansive scenery, which noun.