The Sweet Brier Rose 



Mae Cresswell 

 Cedar Falls, Iowa 



^kffi T is a warm balmy afternoon in late May. 

 A brisk shower has just passed over. 

 The sun sends his slanting rays under 

 the dripping foliage of trees and shrubs 

 turning the raindrops that cling to the 

 tips of the leaves into jewels of every hue. 

 Walks are shiny, paths slippery and 

 roads splashy. A soft breeze wafts a 

 rich odor to greet you that cannot be 

 mistaken for any other. It is as charac- 

 teristic as a mint and belongs to this sort 

 of an afternoon as much as does the 

 many tinted bow now fading in the east. 



The delightful odor must remain unnamed until you are acquainted 



with the sweet briar. 



"Wild rose, sweet brier, eglantine, 

 All these pretty names are mine, 

 And a scent in every leaf is mine, 

 And a leaf for all is mine, 

 And the scent — oh that's divine! 

 Happy sweet and pungent fine, 

 Pure as dew and pick'd as wine." 



— Leigh Hunt. 



The sweet brier Rosa rubiginosa is a native of Europe. Spencer 

 speaks of it, Chaucer mentions it and Shakespeare with his keen 

 perception of the natural world notes its perfume. It was brought 

 to America by our liberty loving forefathers and naturalized 

 beside the doorways of their homes. It went with them on their 

 westward march, a cherished bit of the old home life. From 

 the dooryard it escaped to make beautiful the waste and neglected 

 places. Rich soil and care are not necessary for its happiness. 

 Its sweetness arises from beside the cottage door, beneath my 

 lady's casement window or across the pasture path. 



The bush grows several lithe canes that attain a height of five 

 or six feet then curve over as if afraid we would miss them if they 

 grew higher. The canes are usually overlaid with a reddish 



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