The Windham County reformer. (Battleboro, Vt.) 1876-1897, 1891-10-16
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,Uontinued from last week.

"Indeed, am not sure but that thu
fervent sun OF this climate has slowly
burned up everything, Such energy az
we have in our great west might not be
able to resist it through many genera
tons. especially if we should fall into this
wine drinking habit. Everywhere one
goes here one sees wine used like water,
and great deal Of it is villainous sour
stuff unfit for hogs to drink.
They tell us that this region was once
the center of European literary culture;
that here the fragrant dregs Of Roman
civilization, and through the Roman,
the Greek artistic refinements. were left
over after Italy had become a cinder.
These lemon groves and vineyards, these
old chateaux. these stony hills and
drowsy valleys ought to be the ideal
region for the poets; but it seems they
could not stay; the climate made dust Of
them by dreamy process of slow COM
bustion. Some of the old picturesque
things and some Of the poetical customs
still linger here, and there is sort of
Rose-of- Provence odor and dewiness on
the night air which quite conpensates
for the daytime sultriness.
eff you deem it worth while you may
let Miss Chenier read this. She spoke
to me of Provence and her fathers at
tachment for this particular region,
and while | hardly feel at liberty to
write to her directly, have hoped that
this method of sending her mere sketch
of her ancestral country might not be
thought impertinent.
"Le Chateau Chenier seems to be the
oldest place in this immediate neighbor
hood, not only on account of its ruined
condition, but judging from the char
acter of it's architecture. The landed
estate pertaining to the chateau is of
considerable extent, and might be made
exceedingly remunerative by intelligent
management Yesterday stood upon a
sort of ruined tower and looked over the
landscape. If Miss Chenier could have
seen it she would have been in love more
than ever with the supposed birthplace
of her ancestors. 1t is an old neglected
garden of the south"
Rosalie read and reread the letter,
lingering over the descriptive sentences,
and striving to get at what was not ex-
pressed. She tried to make out from the
writer's elusive touches an outline of
the chateau and its environs. The effort
was futile. Her imagination took light
hold of the sordid part of this Provencal
heritage 1t busted itself more vigor
ously with the fine poetical romance.
Rosalie was not impractical, however,
and one of her first thoughts was of send
ing this letter. or copy of certain parts
Of it, to her father He would he inter
ssted if not benefited. Anything con-
;erning Provence captivated his atten-
ion at once. In this he was typical
outherner of the highest order.
After she had finally done with the
etter and had prepared excerpts from it
'or her father, Rosalie went about the
house for days with sunny visions of
Provence blending with sweet memories
If the little valley of north Georgia.
She was preparing for party her aunt
lad arranged to give There were many
.hings to do-mere trifies, of course, but
necessary. Between duties she played
Upon the banjo, and sang the old simple
songs with power and tenderness of
expression that charmed Mr.. Roosevelt
Colonel Talbot called quite frequently
md his attentions to Resale were a
ource of trouble to Aunt Marguerite
Who could not even remotely contem
,late the possibilities suggested'without
he keenest pangs of selfishness Rosalie
vas her treasure, her life.
Of course, as for Colonel. Talbot, he
vas a most honorable man, of high
amily and ample fortune The connec
ion would be desirable one in many
aspects, but the thought of losing Rosa
lie was more distasteful than death itself
here is no love so foolishly selfish and
trong as the love of the old for the
Dung