Rensselaer Republican, Volume 13, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 November 1880 — A SWEET-BRIER ROSE. [ARTICLE]

A SWEET-BRIER ROSE.

BY E. C. WYETH.

Once upon atime there mi a young girl whom nnme vu Fatima. The home folk* called her by her pet name, Fay. This young girl waa fair of lace, graceful in manner and carriage, and, which is better than either, was possessed of a good temper. It was not strange that her parent* doted on her, her companions enjoyed her society, and her social inferiors admired her. Being an only daughter, Fay was queen ot the family circle of six brothers who could see no fault or blemish in their darling sister, excepting Phil, the brother to whom she was dearest of all. He coaid perceive, and perceived it with a pang, a defect that marred the beauty and completeness of an otherwise lovely character. He noticed it first when his sister was bat a child in years, and was asked by their father to leave a pretty toy with which she was amusing herself tor a few moments, and render him some trival service which would have occupied but a small portion of her time, ' had she chosen to render the service. But Fay had answered smilingly to be sure, yet selfishly : “O papa, this is too cunning to leaves. Please call Donald or Phil. They are just in the next room.” And again, a few days later, when her mother called upon Fay to post a letter for her, the little maiden answered: “Please, mamma, the postman will be around presently. Can’t you give it to him as well t" Phil was studying his geometry lesson, and was busily employed in drawing lines and angles, and in computing distances, but he laid down his dtviders,and took the letter without a word. “What a good boy yon are Phil.” laughed Fay, as her brother returned to nis work. "Ton don't mind being bothered: bat I can’t endure being disturbed when I’m occupied with an interesting story.” "Aren’t you afraid ot becoming just a little bit selfish, Pet?” asked Phil, as he stooped and kissed the sunny-tressed brow of his beloved sister. Fay smiled. “Are you afraid ?” 9he asked in re ?1 -i don’t know,* 1 said Phil. “1 couldn’t bear to think that my precious little sister was growing up to be a selfish girl, and yet sometimes I fancy she prizes her own ease and pleasure beyond that of any others. It would have pleased mother if you had taken her letter just now. It pleased you rattier to go on with your story, so you went on.” "Oh, but Phil," eried Fay, "you took the letter. Mamma didn’t care who took it, jost so it got off in time.’ "Perhaps,” said Phil. "Bat I cannot help thinking that mother is better pleased when the child she requests to serve her does so willing]/, than when she hesitates or shows a distaste for the service. It seems to me that we onght cheerfully to serve one who is so tireless in her labor tor us." "That Is true enough, Phil,” returned Fay with a pretty blush, “and I oughtonly somehow, I don’t think And aa months passed into yean Fay’s habit of not thinking only took firmer hold. She "didn’t think” wken Aunt Baacom, who was quite lame and feeble, begged her to take a message to her son at the other end ot the village, and because of her thoughtlessness Fay railed to carry the message, and in consequence Aunt Bsscom’s son, a busy man tied to his shop all day, did not learn that his mother was in need of a man-to split her wood and fill her shed with fuel; and poor aunty waa forced to hobble about the yard on her crutch and gather up chips for her baking, until, finding a mere thoughtful passer-by, she sent the message that for two days she had supposed was carried by Fatima. Neither had Fay any better excuse for leaving poor Florence Morrill waiting in the Library Hall all one Saturday morning, tor her to bring back the book that she had had ont for two weeks, and that she had promised to return on this particular Saturday morning to the library, so that Florence, who greatly desired the volume, might take it at once, as soon as It should be rechecked. “Oh, how sorry I am,” the exclaimed, as the dinner-bell aroused her from the revery into which she had fallen, after closing the volume over which she had been dawdling at odd moments for the past fortnight. “I promised to take this book back this morning, so that Florence could have it before the left town. I ‘didn’t think’ that ahe had to take the noon accommodation train on Saturdays. Now, some one else will get it, and poor Floy will be so vexed.” It was the same excuse that she had to offer, when after promising Nelly Gaga, the little blind girl who lived next door, t 6 read to her one hour each Wednesday afternoon, she engaged to take her music lesson at that precise hour. “I didn’t think, when I agreed to have the music lesson at that time, that there was really no other afternoon in which Nellie could hsve visitors. What a pity!” And then Phil, the carefuljovlng brother, who was not blind to his little sister’s fault, ventured to say * Fay, dear, won’t yon please pat this n&bit of yours, it at you are often deploring. Into plain terms?" "Thoughtlessaea? ?” asked Fay, with a smile and a olush, glancing up at her brother’s grave eyes. "And now, please, will my little sister consider this word, in the light of all the deplsrable consequences of her own uudesreable habit, and interpret its true meaning r •Thoughtlessness mean*—” Fay’s cheeks blushed rosy red, and her bright blue eyes filled with teats, as she turned away, resolved that she would at least find out Phil's meaning. She went into her own room and sat down by her open window. A sweet-brier rose clambered all over the casement. It was in Bill bloom, and its delicate fragrance filled the air. "There,” exclaimed Fay, "how many times 1 have promised to take a root of this rose to Grandma Beverly, gad have always fatted to think of U at the proper tipae of the year. And now grandma is dead and gone. I wonder if up there in the glad heaven she remembers how thoughtless—yes, I will interpret Has dear Phil has seen tt—how selfish I have been.” . -- - - - “Thoughtless,” repeated Fay, slowly tpd sorrowfully, “Tea, thoughtless ot

everything but myself, my own will and wish and way. Ah me, I am a very selfish girl, thus to nave thought only of my own comfort and happiness, and to have failed so utterly to think of my bounden duty to other*. “Can it be that my dear friends know me as surely as dear Phil does, for a selfish, self-satisfied girl?” Fay’s tears streamed over her cheeks and fell upon the pink petals of the sweetbrier rose. “Poor rose,” murmured Fay, “you seem to be my sweet reproachful monitor. Ton shall be so still. Surely your fragrant breath shall remind me of my neglect,and of my duty. By God’s help I will conquer my enemy. I will live no longer thought fmonly of myself. God forgive me for my life of selfish thoughtlessness. Time proved the sincerity of Fay’s repentance, aad when another spring called into life the early buds, bending over the the low mound above Grandma Beverly’s grave, as her careful fingers planted the tender rootlets of a sweet-brier rose, Fay lifted her sweet eyes to Phil, who stood beside her, and saw in his a look of fond pride that cheered her heart, as her dear brother said, in tones that conveyed more meaning than words alone, ‘The dearest flower in all the world to me must always be a sweet-brier rose.