260 A Rost in the Wiyidow. 



specks of red, emulating their fully disclosed seniors. The storm 

 has had its chatter, fairly blew itself away. The sunshine is 

 flooding the window Avith its golden light. The rose-bush, with 

 every flower erect, is revelling in the genial warmth. Bright ej'es 

 are feasting on the scene, ruby lips are inhaling the rose-buds 

 breath. The hand that has nurtured the rose in the window, is 

 reunited lor its labor. 



We once knew a young man but six niunths embraced by mari- 

 tal ties, in his exceeding magnanimity, (he was at the mercy of a 

 salary) wished to present his partner with a tangible evidence of 

 his affection. He gave her diamonds, and " thereby hangs a tale." 

 If he had given her a rose-bush, there would have been no melan. 

 choly sequel. The heart that has no throbbiugs for nature's first 

 offerings, is scarce ec^ual to giving the proper inclination to youth- 

 ful minds ; so have a care, ye youths, who are about to take a dive 

 in the mysterious sea of matrimony, take the advice of " Jack 

 Bunsby — skipper." " Give a wide berth to vimmen that aint been 

 brought up with a flower-pot." 



Years not few in number, haA-e matured and been garnered since 

 our vision was gratified by daily scrutinizing a rose-bush that 

 surpassed all its fellokvs in its profuseness of roses, its numerous 

 branches, its maize, and its delicious atiar of roses. It was an 

 ambitious vegetation, not satisfied with an ordinary habitation of 

 clay-ware and two gallons of loam, so we gave it a chance in a 

 wooden vessel of exceeding diameter, and proportionate depth. Our 

 rose appreciated the distinction, and spread its glossy foliage to 

 the sunlight emitted through eight panes of Dunbarton glass, of 

 dimensions each, twelve by sixteen. Passers by without, -won- 

 dered much at tlie plethora — the emhonpoint of that rose-bush resid- 

 ing in an iron hooped pail in the windoAv. Gentlemen of elegant 

 taste declared it a prodigy. A little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired 

 daughter, as she daily wended her way to the A'^illage school, 

 would gaze into the window at the luxuriant rose-bush, forgetful 

 that it was just twenty minutes past the hour for her appearance 

 in Mistress Birch's precincts, sacred to crooked " pot-hooks " and 

 teachings of young ideas to shoot. On one occasion, the little 

 maid in her eager admiration, flattened her nose against the win- 

 dow, alas I for frail Dunbarton and Evish curiosity, the glass 

 shivered, the little one fled — her love for roses Avas rebuked, and 

 ever after there was no necessity for a chiding from her precept 



