New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1904-11-13


when my little maid slants her brows above them
in earnest concentration. they all your eyes,
She to ask about the show that's what she
called left her mother tell her about the beau
tiful, beautiful lady, and the music. My mind had
gone back you-and cloth roses
The woman murmured protest at the juxtaposi-
ton Tell me about the baby that has my eyes
she urged
The baby answered Harte. has radiated love
and charm, always. the sends out light. You
are harmonious creature, Mary but this child of
mine is harmony itself You played upon hearts with
your skllful hands for time last night; her little.
laundering fingers lose their grip the soul of
life the secret of love itself. She is rounded
balanced as satisfying drop of water the blue
AS satisfying a real rose you mean of course
again with trace of bitterness in the full tones
You infer that cloth roses are not satisfying"
Harte looked at his companion quzzical1y yet
tenderly. Did | seem infer that? Well there is
much be said about cloth In the first place
you can make them of any size you choose, and
any color, too, if you do not overmuch for
nature. Seasons nothing to the cloth
you may lay it away in a box and take it
after years, with the bloom its petals, the
curve"
Is anybody pleased with his roses?" the woman
interrupted. Mine, | know, weary with Just
that reliability you mention 1t degenerates into
sameness"
Is anybody pleased with his roses?" Harte
peated gently Why, yes. | You may be.
not saying, | am not attempting to prove, that
you made a mistake when you chose cloth roses. My
roses are not horticultural wonders-our roses |
should say those that bloom for and the wife and
babies. Yet they roses born to the heritage of
that which the cloth only copy They take
Gods wind upon their honest faces; the salt of
IS sometimes theirs for dew. We may not lay them
away boxes and find them fresh egain after year;
but we always have trusted that they would bloom
and themselves
Two blue eyes, heavy with unshed tears, We're
raised Hartes With a faint shrug their owner
murmured: Nv hat matter so the world calls 1t
rose? We must be brave and smile over our choice
mustn't WEI"
oh Mary, Mary girl! And ceave it? No'
Again, | lifted my little girl my knee-my
little girl with your eyes-I you stand fronting
the lights and the music dominating all for moment
leading all hearts captive for instant and cherish
ing in your hands a cloth rose.
He raised of the gloved hands. Il couldn't
help thinking when looked at these dear fingers that
God formed to hold His flowers of love, that it
was a pity to see the muslin cheat in them. That's
what made me presume to pity you; but hope | am
mistaken"
They were getting into town now; the
filling up The erect, and put her costume
to rights with intinitesma touch two.
It's question of choice, you know" Harte added
wistfuy. Maybe you like that artificial life One
soul cannot choose for another Perhaps you feel
no lack"
You that maybe l satisfied with cloth
roses" She was rising now; the slowing for
the crossing at her hotel You should talk to my
manager He says that | satisfied with
anything He swears that whatever | choose, |
sure think l wanted the other thing Perhaps
he is right. I am persuaded that there will be a
special niche high in glory, in the next world for
the souls of managers Good-by.'
He sprang out ahead of her assisted her down.
l,.Ja Cd INV o,Jc he pZ-ad