The daily morning journal and courier., 1905-09-14
THE MEMORY OF A PAST.

'
 But-the rest does not apply to Donna
 Maria Josefa. Bent and wrinkled. her
 thin lips, stained at the corner with to-
 bacco, work nervously over her tooth-
 less gums. The thin hands that hold the black shawl round her shoulders are knotted with rheumatism. When 1 the shawl slips back the skin beneath shows dry and withered like yellow paper. Still Donna Josefa claims to be 1 only fifty-five, and like many other
 claims she makes, who can contradict? As she herself would say no trace of
 diferencia.
 For thirty-seven years out of the fif-
 ty-five, Donna Josefa has lived in San
 Francisco, and in almost one spot at
 that. For close on twoscore years her
 different homes have been within few | blocks of each other, and never one be- 1 yond the limits of the Spanish quarter. For Danna Josefa speaks no nglish. Not one word can she say, not one can she understand. When she first meets you she will shrug her shoulders help lessly and bewau her ignorance, till cAAG 10 GltAAtOcb IEA4ARlCA kO bGSlh anu teach her even now. But when you , know her better you will realize that
 she never really thought it worth while
 to learn our language. When the good God has given one the most beautiful tongue in the world, why trouble to
 learn another Besides, Que diferen- cia hace?"
 So Donna Josefa continues to live almost in the shadow of the Spanish church, in a house as old and dilapi- i dated as herself. Thirty years ago it
 was built, one of the few places scat
 tered on the lower slopes of Russian
 Hill. Now artistic. saingled homes
 look down on it from above, and cheap,
 modern flats crowd it close. Still it
 stands, weather-stained and lop-sided,
 probably upheld Joy the good saints who
 guard it's inmates.
 The whole house brings in just three
 dollars a month, of which Donna Jose
 ia pays fifty cents for the two attic
 rooms, Steep, narrow stairs lead from
 the dark kitchen below to Donna Jose fa's apartments above. The lower half
 of the stairs are always filtered with
 the babies and other possessions of the pretty little Porto Rican on the first floor. The upper half holds the over flow from Donna Josefa's. If in going up you knock over a baby or lamp,
 don't trouble to stop. The baby will pickitself up, look at you with its great
 black eyes and toddle off with Latin dignity. The lamp will bump along to
 the t5ottom and stay there.
 Outside Donna Josefa's door you will stand and gasp. For seerval reasons;
 partly for the lack of air; mostly from
 surprise. For long since Donna Josefa i discovered that the proper place for ev- 1 erything is the first floor, and accord l ingly everything is in it's place. Dirty | clothes, rags, empty lamps, pipes, saul
 cers with tobacco. orange peel. chillis, tomatoes, an oil stove, dishes, sauce | pans, brown earthen ollas. heavy
 gray stone mortar half full of corn,
 bowls with villainous mixtures into l which one is afraid to pry too closely, crumbs, dirt, and in the midst of it all,
 on cot proppel up with cobble from l the street, sits Donna Josefa, old and i weak and helpless, guarding her one earthly possesslon-the memory of Q past s+.
 How she lives Is an economic nayste- ". Sometimes, even yet, she sews.
 But between times? There is always
 some tobacco in the polished cocoanut l shell she uses as box, a few chillis on
 the floor, and an orange or banana anywhere. Once she told me that they dropped" Whether from wagon or
 from heaven she did not explain, and
 did not question.
 When she gets tired of sitting on the cot she walks out in the sun, along the streets where She has lived for thirty seven years, and where to-day she is
 practically a stranger At night she turns her plate and the gray stone
 mortar upside down to keep the rats from running over them. But the corn she leaves in an open bag, and the rats make the best of the situation. Now if you are a sensible, practical person you will have no patience with Donna Josefa, and will quickly discov-
 CT the weak spots in her history. But if you are fortunate enough to have
 been born with an imagination, you will not begrudge Donna Josefa the use
 of hers. After all-que diferencia hace? Fifty-five years ago Donna Josefa
 was born in Guadalajara, Mexico, the
 one and only city in the world worth
 being born in. Her parents were not
 rich, but they had enough. Josefa went
 to the convent and learned to sew and prey like any other well-bred senorita.
 Then when she was fifteen she left and
 went home to sit in id1eness till hus-
 band should appear, eager to let her continue that occupation in a home of her own.
 In year he came, with youth, good looks, money and heart for Josefa and Josefa only. But he was foreigner,
 an Italian. He might as well have been a Hottentot Josefa's mother, a
 conservative of conservatives, swore that no girl in her senses would marry other than a Mexican. Josefa swore that she would marry her Italian or no one, Her mother promptly shut her up and began a novena to Mary of Guadaloupe for change of her daugh- ter's heart. But Mary of Guadaloupe
 was evidently busy elsewhere, for Jo-
 sefa remained true to her Italian. Tn six months the mother grew weary of