, 1890-07-31
The Story Of a Thornless
Red Rose.
A COTTER AND HIS BARNS
A Widower Faithfully Kept the
Pledge Made to a Dying
Wife.
WRITTEN FOR rHE RnvIEw.l

Is WnuI L Teuu on u cdTu ulIttClieu W
beautiful rose; II red, red rose, just
opening TO its full perfection, brim-
ming with dewy fragrance, lovely
and sweet as the dear girl who
sends It..
Something stirs In my heart and
there is an unwonted dimness OF
vision. Ills so sweet To he remem-
bered, and what sweeter token oi
remembrance than this red, red rose.
I handle it tenderly, dreading the
thorns. But there are no thorns. i
examine the stem; they have all
been cut carefully away. All, Ag-
mes, my sweet girl, Is 1t yours tu
pluck the thorns from others roses?
An angels mission; God grant 1t be
not yours to wear them.
Dear girl, | will place your lovely
gift In my most cherished vase-a
dainty stem of crystal and silver
and, as | enjoy its beauty aud fra
GRANGE, | will dream of another
Agnes for whom the roses bloom
the red, red roses In the long ago,
but now-only white ones.
The tones of n violin handled with
more than ordinary skill, and the
rhythmic patterof little feet, pause
before the abode of poverty.
Through the open door | see man
dressed in the coarse garb of the
laborer, playing lively tune, while
three little ones are skipping, chas-
seing and pirouetting, tossing their
arms, and lifting their skirts with
the dainty grace OF n professional
dauseuse. the man looked up. Oh
serving my pleased interest, he laid
aside his violin and comes forward.
"Come in, sir, come in," he ex-
claims, cordially. "Its a poor place,
but yer welcome, and wc'll be
pleased o yer company" acct pit
the kindly invitation. A poor
place, indeed, but neat and tidy
withul, aud an evident desire to
make the most of everything
"Come and speak to the gentleman,
childer, Sho now, Jennie lass,
don't he bashful, shake hands and
don't let the gentleman think ye
have no manners"
Shyly the little ones come forward
with their greetings.
"lts bnshiul the little gerls are;
they see but little company since
the mothers gone; and it's lonely
for 'cm here, alone all day, and me
away ut me work. So after the
supper | play IL bit of II chune, and
let 'em Jig it awhile before they cud-
die down for the night.
"And the mother IL dead?p
'Ies, sir dead since the little lad
there was only two weeks; ye'd
take him fer II gerl In his skerts.
He ain't big aud strong like II lad
should be; but bairns raised wi'out
the mother is apt To be weakly"
"And you leave them alone all
dayY
"Ycs, sir; all day. Not but the
neighbor women are good to do a
turn, or look after them now and
again. One % them in particular
Is overly good. She is u wildly"
with sly twinkle.) "But," "
his face hsobering, 81 prom
ised the mother when she
was dying, I'd never look at
woman till the BARNS was old
enough to strike out for themselves.
And Jennie here is getting to be
quite the little woman, amt ye,
my lass? And Katies the fine gerl
to mind the little lad"
The little girls hid their pleased,
blushing faces behind the fathers )
shoulder.
"i fear Pm depriving the little
ones of their evenings enjoyment"
"Sit ye still, sir, sit ye still; rs
told you, we're not overburdeucd
with company, but you've been
SO pleased with the BARNS, and
listened go kindly To my poor talk,
we must do something for the well
come. Perhaps, now and you're
fond % the music, you'd like to hear
the lassies sing. Some did say they
have the fine voices for singing, but
they're all the plain, old-fashioned ed
chunes | learned In the old country,
ii so be you like that kind"
The little ones range themselves
by the fathers side as he plays II
simple prelude. Sweetly touching
the notes of pathetic old-time bal
lad, there rose In the soft hush of the
deepening twilight the sweet child
ish voices, the mans mellow bass,
and the exquisite tenderness of the
violin acconIpaniment, blending in
II wonderful harmony that floats out
and away la the dusky silence till
pusscrs-by loiter listening or speak
ing in hushod voices and | seem To
be borne to another cline, where
moss-grown rocks and wood
crowned hills overhang silver
lakes, and angel voices mingle with
the soft tapping of waves, the MUIR
mur of waterfalls, and II mournful
soughing of winds, and j dream of
brave men and tender leal women,
of dcsolate homes and broken hearts,
Of tyranny and wrong, but above
all, love, tender and true, and they
sing again and again, the man be-
tween whiles growing garrulous,
giving little touches of his life, u life
full of hardships and trials, pathos
and tears, yet full Of Il sublime cour-
age, and through 1t all love ran, like
II silver thread through sonber
wooi, Frightening and beautifying
the whole.
The hour wakes late. The little
lad nestles i'm his fathers arms fast
asleep, and little heads sway dan
gerotlsly. AS | rise to depart,
bend aud touch with reverent lips
the dropping lids.
"Ie'll come again, sir. Well be
glad of yer company, and the
bairns'll be pleased, 1 know. Ye've
listened kindly to my poor talk. L
hope haven't worried you, but 1t
eases the heart sometimes TO tell
what's in it.n
We part with a close, lingering
handshake, and go out into the
darkness with an added sweetness
n. III.