The weekly herald. [volume] (Cleveland, Tenn.) 1876-1888, 1879-11-06
THE POT-POURRl.

III was Just after the roses bad done
blowing. They were all sitting by twi.
light in the yellow drawing-room-some'
how it always seemed twilight longer
there when it was dark everywhere else
-and Rosamond got up and stirred her
pot-pourri in the old claret-colored Chcl.
sea jar between the windows; aud such O
sweet faint odor Of rose leaves stolo
through the room that the old people
felt as if they were young and the time
was June again,
1T is too powerful said Miss E1ing
ham, waving her big peacook-feather
fan.
Too powerful?' said Mrs. Penn, pat
ting away tho silver curl that tho neigh
boring fan brushed into her soft brown
eyes. Not for me. Nothing is so pleas.
ant to me as the pot-pourri, aud in the
old jar, too. II is not the rose, bot it ia
the memory OF the rose. 1t brings hack
all my youth. Aud although age is pleas
ant enough as it comes to me, yet youth
was so very sweet--so very sweet, my
DEAR and the silver voice paused, while
q slender hand vent searching through
the purple gloom frf another old hand,
and found 1.-THE heDd Of the speakers
husband. People think it so sad to
grow old, she said. But every year
has been to mo like another step on an
upward path to paradise. Ones wings
are growing all the way. Aud one has
so much to remember, to look back on
when one pauses, to see i'll new lights.
Do you suppose that either of us would
change places with Rosamond and Belt
ran there, who have life before them?'
Not /, said the voice that responded.
Not that you would not bo glad to
live your seventy summers over again,
PaulY
Il am sure of them now, at any rate,
said the husband. 1 have them. Moth.
ing can take them away from us.
Aud We ask nothing more, sue said,
than to be laid in the same grave when
the long night comes.
'And the endless morning. he mur
INJURED.
'And even the endless morning can
hardly bo brighter than somo of the
mornings OF our youth-than the morn
ing when we first made the pot-pouri,
Paul. You remember that morning,
Fanl2
DO you remember it, Aunt Persist
asked Rosamond.
Shall ever forget it?' che said with n
low sweet laugh, why, when am
dead, remembrance Of that morning will
bloom out of my grave like Aowerl--
And yet it was much such a morning as
any days last month-only SO glorious,
80 gilded, so full of sunshine But what
gray and lowering, showering dawn it
had ! If we had never had that little
quarrel, Paul. All was 80 sad when
Tparted the curtains chat day break.
thought I was done with life and it was
q pity-Iso young.
Here Rosamond pinched Beltran's
arm.
$50 young. And might bave been 30
blessed, said her old aunt Persis. III II
gave, that morning, just the swiftost
glance across that garden to Pdul's win.
dow, and saw that he sat there over his
book, he could not tell. Aud then !
dressed me; and / thought OF some young
girl being dressed for her grave. Aud
then pinned up my white irock, and
went down to the rose.gardeu to pick
the 6owers with the dew on them for the
pot'pourrithat grandmampa had biddon
me never to forget in the time of roses
IL was tho timo ofroses
We plucked them as we went
sang Beltran, half under his breath.
And / plucked them till the basket ON
my arm was heaped. The rose.garden
was just as it is to-day, on a terrace
higher than the rect OF the garden. Aud