Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1879-10-15
THE POT-POURRI.

light in the yellow drawing-room-
somehow it always seemed twilight there
when it was dark everywhere else-and
Rosamond got up and stirred her pot
pourri in the old claret-colored Chelsea
jar between the windows; and such a
sweet, faint odor of rose leaves stole
through the room that the old people
felt as if they too were young and the
time was June again.
cit is too powerful" said Miss Eing-
ham, waving her big peacock-feather fan.
Too powerful?' said Mrs. Penn,
putting away the silver curl that the
neig hboring fan brushed into her soft
brown eyes. Not for me. Nothing is
SO pleasant to me as the pot-pourri, and
in the old jar, too. It is not the rose,
but it is the memory of the rose. It
brings back all my youth. And although
age is pleasant enough as it comes to me,
yet youth was SO very sweet-so very
sweet, my DEAR" and the silver voice
paused, while slender hand went
searching through the purple gloom for
another hand, and found 1.-THE hand
of the speakers husband. "People
think it SO sad to grow DID," she said.
But every year has been to me like
another step to an upward path to para
disc. Ones wings are growing all the
way. And one has so much to remem-
Der, to look on when one pauses, to see
in new lights. Do you suppose that
either of us would change places with
Bosamond and Bertram there, who have
life before them?''
NotI )" said the voice that responded.
Not that you would not be glad to
live your summers over again, Paul?'
am sure of them now, at any rate, D
said the husband. 81 have them.
Nothing can take them from us'
"And we ask nothing MORE" she said,
than to be laid in one grave when the
long night comes"
"And the endless morning." he muir
INJURED.
"And even the endless mornings can
hardly be brighter than some of the
mornings of our youth-than the morn
ing when we first made the pot-pourri,
Paul. You remember that morning,
Paul?"
"Do you remember it, Aunt Persis ?''
asked Rosamond.
"Shal I ever forget itT'' she said,
with low sweet laugh. "Why, when
am dead remembrance of that morning
will bloom out of my grave like flower
And yet it was much such morning as
any day last month-only so glorious, SC
gilded, SO full Of sunshine! But what 8
gray and lowering, showering dawn il
had! If we had never had that little
quarrel, Paul! All, I was SO sad wher
[ parted the curtains that daybreak.
thought was done with my life-and il
was PITY SO young"
Here Rosamond pinched Bertrand
arm.
ESQ young. And might have beea
blessed" said her old Aunt Persis. eli
/ gave that morning, just the swiftes1
glance across the garden to PauPs win
dow, and saw that he sat there over hi:
book, he could not tell. And then ]
dressed me; and I thought of some
young girl being dressed in her grave
And then pinned on my white frock-
a la laueuse, you call it now, Rosamo nd
and went down to the rose garden tt
pick the flowers with the dew on them
for the pot-pourri that grandmamms
had hidden me never to forget in the
time OF roses.
ssf 1t was the time of roses
We plucked them as went.''
sang Bertram, half under his breath.
Sand / plucked them till my basket
on my arm was heaped. The rose gar.
den was just as it is to-day, On terrace
higher than the rest of the garden. And
when | turned about l saw Paul had
come down. and was walking in the
poplar alley of his grandfather garden,
bare-headed, with his hands behind him,
and his head fallen on his breast. All,
how beautiful he was! SO tall, SO dark, so
like fallen star. And | loved him so
and we had quarreied. ] had been mis-
cradle just forty eight hours. 1t seemed
to me that | had never been happy. 1
had lost my youth; I was old; I had
come into the shadow. There was an
other young girl" she said, after mo-
ment's pause, as if even the sorrows of
youth had their sweetness that it was