Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-03-06
Loves Keepsakes.


TIE CRUSHED AND FADED ROSE THAT BENDS %
TO THE oLDKS DAYs.
From the San Francisco Chronicle
Yes, sentiment and association and all that
sort Of thing play . big part in our lives, sup
pose. She takes rose out of her corsage and
gives it to you, and you keep it laid away long
after it has withered into q dry dust, until you
forget what it is and where you got it. And
then you don't like to destroy it, because, al
though you cantor the life Of you, remember
with something that soothes your vanity. That
il why il cuts fellow when theyoung woman asks
him for her presents back. II is not that he
cares for them or for her particularly, but il
seems to leave him nothing to console himself
it pulls 1t up by the roots and leaves q kind of
hole in his life he can't fill up. As long as he
keeps the sleeve buttons and the lock Of hair
and things he has something to hold ON to,
some evidence that once upon time he really
had some hold upon her, but those gone, he Is
without proof Of anything; she has taken back
everything, spiritual and material, she ever
gave him.
But everybody passes through that stage of
emotion when he or she keeps things for their
association, flowers. notes, any little tokens that
may have dropped in course of pleasant hours.
have seen stacks OF dried flowers; I have
glanced casually in parlor at odd things that,
not being there for ornament and not being
sakes and asked no questions. She hands you
her favorite poet out of the library and YOU
look through it. A faded leaf drops out. You
stoop to pick it up. She bushes and says, 'No
matter" but she smoothes it out accidentally
and when you aren't looking she puts it back
between the leaves exactly where it was before.
l always look at the poem when q little event
like that happens, and it is almost invariably
something sweet and tender. applicable to q
little love situation. Iknow he has read it to
n al 70, inn II L..
been in garden or out of doors. And per-
haps the little leaf foated on the breeze and
fell between the pages, or he gave it to her to
mark the place. l have seen many dainty
things that were doubtless mementoes, but the
maiden lady OF sixty comes to the front and
wins the prize without a question. It was
little paper box of old, old fashion, glazed. It
had had pills in it once, fancy.
1t looked very drug storey of the past, before
they had sixteen hundred different kinds of
tooth powder. each the very best. and million
kinds of face powder. all recommended by the
best known prima donnas. 1t belonged to the
days when they put on expensive perfume bot
ties the kind of labels they put now on castor
oil. In this little box was a mixture of bits of
brown leaf and dust. She had kept it, she said,
for forty years.
"What is it?' asked.
"a memento."
eyes; but is it flower or leaf?"
"1ts a leaf"
"a leaf? The color is peculiar"
'lt's leaf-you won't tell anybody, will
you! was very much in love with young
man in those days, and one night, the first
night he ever kissed me. he laid down his
cigar-cigars were looked upon as great Injuries
then in our part of the country-he laid down
his cigar on the fence and went away without
it. Next morning found 1T there. 1t had
been raining, and it was all wet, but I
took it and put it away, and-well-I
don't know how it came here-but here it is,
and even now am young when look at it and
don't feel like throwing it in the fire."