The Bourbon news. [volume] (Paris, Ky.) 1895-19??, 1903-06-05
ROSE MEMORIES.
BY MAUD HoEY.

y, ~
the monogram b A on it; it must
have been my uncle's. 1 will open it after
dinner; the bell will ring in minute" l
thought to myself
1t was barely two months since l had
heard of the death of my uncle, Sir Brian
Adair, and my consequent succession to the
baronetcy. | was in Tasmania when the
news was cabled to me by his lawyers, and,
needless to say, started for home at once.
l had only seen my uncle once in my life,
and as that was % years ago, it was i'm
possible for me to feel any acute sorrow
at his death. The doctors had certified
heart disease as the cause of his decease-
but old Mrs. Miles, the housekeeper, told
me that it was broken heart, and nothing
else. 1t seems that my Aunt Phyllis died
just year after they were married, and
with her lay buried all my uncle's desire
to live
My curiosity was aroused, so l did not
take long over my solitary meal, but, having
ordered a lamp to be taken to the library,
i fetched the casket, and wended my way
thitcher
With considerable difficulty, l at last sue
ceeded in opening the box. Inside were five
little parcels, covered with tissue paper,
each bearing date. took them out very
carefully, and found beneath a document
in the form of diary, in Sir Brian's hand
writing. On opening the packages one after
the other, found to my establishment that
they each contained faded rose.
Having reverently placed them in their
coverings, 1 settled myself near the lamp
to read the story of bygone days with which
these faded blossoms were interviewer.
MAY 9Th, 1857.
Forty years ago, but remember it as
if it were but yesterday. A little boy of
six, my nurse had wheeled me into a sunny
spot in Kensington Gardens, and seated
herself on a bench a little distance off.
where she soon forgot everything in the de-
lights of a paper-backed novel.
Other children were playing all around
me, but there was / alone, with no one to
talk to. A feeling of intense pity for myself
stole over me, and soon the tears were
trickling down my cheeks. All at once l
felt a soft little hand on my own, and
opened my eyes to behold little maiden,
with dark gray eyes, and wonderful auburn
hair, holding out white rosebud to me.
I" Poor little boy, does it hurt you?- smell
this, a nice smell always does me good if
l am ILL., and she held the rose whilst 1
gladly shifted its fragrance.
oh, don't go, please stay and talk to
me-, stammered, blushing to the roots of
my hair, for l was a very shy child. My
names Brian-please what is yours%
Phyllis my little fairy answered And
she stayed with me quite long time, tell
ing me all her pretty fancies about rose
fairies, and when she went, bent and kissed
me, leaving the bud in my hand"
Jan. nth, 1890"
Phyllis, dear heart, am recalling happy
memories tonight have opened my jewel
casket, and l shall always call it, though
you once laughed at what you termed my
silly fancy A pink rose-you gave it to
me just three years after our first meet
ing. What a passion you always had for
roses, my Phyllis! This one you had picked
from little tree in the dollhouse that my
father had given you at Christmas
''It was fate, indeed, that had made you
my fathers ward, dear, kind fate, for you
brought sunshine into my lonely life. I was
a delicate child, so had been kept at home
till l was ten years old.
II remember so we'll the day started off
to school for the first time; cried bitterly
at having to part with my little playmate.
The train was just about to start, that
train that was to take me far away for
three months when my father lifted you
up in his arms to give me a last kiss, and
you stuck this little pink rose in my coat,
saying: Don't forget poor Phyllis and her
roses'
"July I'd, 1870.
THE faded petals of crimson rose
Sweetheart, the flower is dead, but the love
that gave it still lives on, and will live for
ever. l was 20, and you were just 10. Ny
father had died the previous year, and
was now master of Adair Court, where you
and my mother lived with me.
Il had just come down from my second
year at Oxford and directly l saw you again,
| knew that the one aim and object of my
life henceforth would be to win you for
my wife. You were fond of me, knew,
but | was dreadfully afraid lest you should
only regard me in the light of brother.
"a fortnight passed, and l had worked
myself up into fever of longing to hear
my fate. So l took you into the rose gar
dent was always your favorite haunt,
and then and there told my love-
my wife, my dearest! can see you now:
yOu nNAC wearing WHlI6 muslin
frock, and you stood on the narrow path,
against a background of crimson ramblers,
your gray eyes shone with a new and ten
der light, and the suns rays glinted on
your hair, making it holo of gold above
your happy face.
"Yet never a word! You looked at me in
answer to my question, and, turning,
plucked rose, and gave it to me. What
need of words? The blossom answered for
you"
'Oct. Oh, 1870.
Gust the dust of Marechal Neil rose.
but the scent clings to it still-as my men,
DRY clings to the day my Phyllis pinned it
to my coat-Our wedding-day!
''Not a shadow fell on our two young
hearte, no dread presentiment of the fu-
ture marred our bliss on that-our we'd
ding day. Looking back through the weary
vista of lonely years that have been mine
since then, knew that God was strength
ening me by great happiness to endure the
anguish that was to come so soon, and I
thank Him, for it is given to but few NOR
tails to taste the peace of perfect love-"
dec. 30th, 1871.
"But one more rose, it was white as driven
snow when took II from nv 4 ri;r1 .s.bo