The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1901-08-16
THE PERFUME
! OF ROSES
eYNtpE'A DARE.

! cuy "A UVOh, uO uUupt' lac AC.
moves the wrapper and finds box,
damp. as though water soaked. Rails.
ing the lid. he looks down, not upon q
book, but flowers glowing, fragrant
roses, pink, crimson and white-lying
In nest of green leaves, their petals
wet and shining as with dew; old fash.
Toned roses, too, not the rare product
Of scientific culture, but the simple
blossoms Of village gardens. The state.
ly pink thousand leaf, the ruby sheen
Of damask rose, the crimson glow of
cabbage rose and the velvet petals Of
a white "brlde"-all were there.
From his grave eyes, grown weary In
looking at sooty walls and smoke cloud
ed SKIES the shadows steal away, and
into them creeps a tender light. over
them mist falls, which is almost
tears
Ills such a weary while since he
has looked OH such as these. Boyhood
and youth in these days of strenuous
life seem far away. He buries his face
in the roses and-dreams. AS he dreams
the gates of memory swing open wide.
Once more he sees the little river rip.
pling along between its willow lined
banks. He hears the whir of the old
mill wheel as it turns and turns and
the hills look like high green walls,
sweeping up and back from the village
and river. 1t Is evening. The sunset
light CLEANS redly on the rivers breast.
Down the long street, driven by tow.
headed urchln, come some sleek bodied
cows, going to pasture, their bells tin.
king gently as they move.
Through the thick foliage he catches
a glimpse of white walls. His heart
throbs fast Within their shelter she
dwclls--she whom his heart holds dear.
Beside him a low whltewashed fence
runs. At the gate he pausps. He push
es 1t gently. 1t opens, and before him
lies gravoed path bordered with dear
old time flowers close by the walk. The
rich, spicy fragrance of Glove and Gin.
namun pinks assaults the nostrils. Far
Their in are blue larkspurs. the graceful
sweep of princes feather with the gold
Of bachelor buttons and purple colum-
bine, with folded wrapper where tur-
tie doves dwell" marlGolds and clear
faced johnny jump ups and amoro,is
sweet wllllams-a rcvel of color every
where. And beyond the flowers an
orchard Of apple trees with squat,
gnnrled trunks, branches low hanging
and laden with promise of fruit In the
autumn.
In the orchards midst is n low ram
bling house, with its cncircllng porch
and wide, swinging easement. Behind
the house are vegetable garden and
spacious barnsa picture of plenty.
Clinging TO the walls and crawling over
porch roof, pecring into windows, is n
climbing rose, banging weary with its
weight Of beauty. And at every cor.
ncr roscs-the modest sweet bricr and
all the old beauties. Here by his hand
stands the queen Of them ala rare
white moss rose, white as snow, faint
pink tint in its fragrant heart He al
ways thinks of her when he looks at
these roses. She is like the flower In
her purity and loneliness. Under tho
caves by the door he waits and listens,
then knocks gently. His heart leaps at !
a gentle step and he thinks =
She Is coming, my love- my sweet,
With ever so airy tread.
Hy heart will awaken and beat 4 |
Has ii lain for century dead9
IN the wide doorway she stands. SO
silently she moves. he scarce knew her
there. In her dear eyes so true so
sweet, there Is a gladness which tells
him his welcome-the welcome her lips |
are too shy to utter.
In her dark hair shine the velvcty |
petals of white moss rose. in one deli.
cate hand she holds another; just as |
in his heart and life lie holds her-his |
rose maiden.
The shadows Of twilight infoid them.
Above them one by one the stars peep |
out Across the river in the wood q
whlppoorwll calls plaintively; a clat.
ter of wheels and hoof beats in the |
strcet-then silence.
They are so happy there In the old !
porch in the fragrant night. BY and
by he asks her to sing. He loves to
hear her sing. Her voice is sweet and
clear like lark's notes. =:
She sings "Lorena." aud he wonders
why she chose SO sad song. He
thought afterward he knew. How ten.
derby he clasped her hand through that
last verse. Her voice trembled, too. as
she sang: 4aps .. ' ~. --sr-rar.-.
There Is future, Oh thank God
OF life this is 50 small part.
lis dust to dust beneath the sod,
But there--up thers-'tis heart to heart.
How clearly he can hear her voice
now and the pathetic words! How soon
1t all ended and changed lifo for him!
1t is June here in the great hot city, but
away up there among the hills Of New
England the little river is ripping and
singing on its way to the sea. The air
Is perfumed from myrlads Of blossoms.
He secs the old graveyard behind the
little church. There the grasses sway
and bend gently in the summer winds.
Tie bees are cumming drowslly, and
over fair white cross, which marks q
narrow grave, Il white moss rose bows
its lovely head, and the old fashioned
roses are all blooming there. And as
June follows June they spread pail
Of sweet petals over her place Of rest.
How he wishes to 60 to hear-"Copy,
SIR" says voice In his ear. The roses
fall gently, and he comes back once
more to "the cares Of day."-Pittsburs
Dispatch.
Very Limited.
When that very limited monarch,