The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1896-11-18
THE GOLDEN ROSES.

A glowing southern sun bathed tn
drowsy old garden in a flood of molter
gold. The milky yucca blossoms mingled
their beauty with that of the Haunting
scarlet of the cactus. The orange and fle
trees hung their luscious fruit within
tempting distance, while over the thiol
white adobe wall, across the trells before
| the house and up to the senorita's bed
room window, climbed in riot of yellow
| splendor the superb Gold of Ophir rose tree
famous along the entire coast,
| Never was there such another rose tree
Its limbs were as thick as mans arm
and its blossoms were great, glorious nests
of color and perfume. 1t bloomed the ell.
tire year-bloomed for offerings before
Our Lady's shrine In the old mission;
bloomed for weddings and funerals; for
tho tourist who paused at the senorita' s
gate to wonder and exclaim at the marvel,
and for the senorita herself.
The senorita was straight and tall and
slender Though the gray was beginning
to creep in her dusky hair and the tell
tale wrinkles were scanning her forehead,
she yet was handsome woman, with tho
same Andalusian features, the soft, speak
ing eyes, the clear olive skin, her beauti-
full mother had brought from Spain years
ago.
In the tiny, low celinged drawing room,
immaculate as sanctuary, with its snowy
mating, its wooden blinds, its sanded
thresholds, among the images of the mar
tyrs and the pictures of the blessed saints,
hung portrait of the senorita, painted
when she was Is. She wore, as became
her station, silken gown and string OF
pearls about her throat. Over the superb
ly nodded shoulders bertha Of rare Taco
was thrown and in her hands she held a
Gid of Ophir rose-the first one ever
plucked from the bush before her door
Every afternoon when the senorita had
finished her household duties, before she
sat down to the dainty drawn work which
was a part Of her daily occupation, and
from which she derived modest income,
1t was her custom to enter the drawing
room, and, after adjusting tho blinds SC
that the sunlight would touch the portrait
gently, to stand before it intently regard.
ing her own lost youth.
"Madre di Dios, was the murmured
long-time-ago!"
There was always q vase of golden roses
on little stand before tho portrait. When
the senorita's gazo left the picture, it fell
upon the flowers. With gentle sigh she
would pensively touch tho petals with
oaressing fingers, then silently and like
ghost slowly glide from the room.
This was the little shrine at which the
senorita worshiped, loved and remembered
Every day were these transformations cere-
monies repeated. Every day her gentle
voice murmured "Madre di Dios, but it
was long time ago-long-time-ago!"
Years before, when the scnorita had
been young, beauty and the belle of tho
little Spanish-American settlement up at
tho Preside there had been gallant young
lieutenant who fell desperately in love
with tho charming Spaniard. Their court
ship amid the myrtle and orange groves
under the warm moonlight of the south
ern region in the sheltered hooks along tho
white beach had been ideal. Both young,
became bit Of local pride. "May you
love as Ygnacia," was the blessing moth
ers whispered to their daughters and
MAY the saints send you another lieuten-
ant brought the blood into the cheeks of
the senorita's girl companions.
Onco when tho lieutenant returned from
Santa Barbara, whittier he had been sent
on important military business, he brought
to his sweetheart tiny rosebush, which
he planted before her door.
"Ygnacia, ho whispered as he caught
her slim hands In his and bent his bold,
blue eyes upon her blushing face, my
love for you will BIO perennial, like this
bush, and sweet as its blossoms"
But alas for the pledges of passionl The
lieutenant was one to love and ride away.
Ere the roses had bloomed the third year
he had departed-departed with fcrvont
VOWS and promises Of speedy return.
But the long, burning summers, tho slow,
dreary winters, drifted by and ho never
came. The tiny bush grew to BIO lordly
tree, and never did the senorita cut rose
for the mission, the bride or for the dead
that she did not sec that handsome face,
those bold tender eyes, and hear again
those passionate words, "Nly love will be
perennial like this bush and sweet as its
blossoms"
She heard Of him now and then-the
famous Indian Fighter, then the major tho
colonel at last the great general, whose
name was honored throughout the land.
Then came the news of his marriage to a
celebrated belle and heiress
The rose tree was growing and bloom
ing, but hope was dead in tho heart Of the
Benorita.
Year after year she lived her simple lit
tie life in the old adobe cottage of her an
cestors One by one her friends passed
away. To the sonorita were left only her
rose garden and memory. The Gold Of
Ophir rose tree climbed to her window and
thrust its great yellow blossoms into hor
room. Each perfect flower seemed to chal.
lenge hor attention and to cry: Look at
mo, Ygnacia. am sweet as was his love
for you" And the senorita, growing
graver and older and palmer every day,
kissed the rose and murmured, "Madre di
Dios, but it was ons-time-agop'
1t was a great day for the sleepy littlo
Spanish town when the railroad came;
greater when the rich syndicate built tho
magnificent hotol. Then came the electris
cars rushing and changing before the ses
norita S rose garden. Inquisitive tourists
pokcd their noses over her wall, and see-
Ing her wonderful rose tree begged to be
allowed to enter. The senorita received
these visitors with sweet serenity and