The Birmingham age-herald., 1915-04-07

It was exactly 20 years ago today that I, privileged by virtue of my quiet and lady-lilSe behavior"-an un- suspected symptom, by the way, of an attack of measles, and intensified by the wholesome awe in which I held my paternal great aunt!-was permitted the enjoyment of assisting that good lady in turning out her desk, the new year demanding in her well-ordered household a disposal Of the previous 12 months ''rubbish"-her own scornful and decisive word for all the delicious knick- knacks which, during my visit were conveyed to the fire by my tim idly obedient, but somewhat unwilling hands.
 Only once in all those hours did temptation lure me from the path of righteousness, and somewhere amongst
 the bundle of dollies' clothes which have been passed down to my youngest sister. there is little heliotrope bon net made of a scrap of silk which in some mysterious fashion found its
 way into the top of my stocking in- stead of the destructive flames,
 But that is neither here nor there. was speaking of that January after noon when occurred the annual sift- ing of Aunt Elizabeths correspondence, and incidentally the instigation of
 what has proved the delight of many
 a lonely hour prior to these long and depressing evenings when the absence
 of three boisterous brothers makes the
 house unfamiliarly quiet and the fire
 side strangely empty.
 I had been watching the wanton de- struction of bundles and patches of let ters-daintily scented epistles on paper
 of pink and blue; crisp, interesting looking dispatches from over the seas;
 business notes and circulars; invita-
 tion cards, and a hundred other mis- sives, each with its own peculiar in-
 terest and charm-I had been watching
 the disposal of these until my indie-
 nation became too warm to be kept in check even by Aunt Elizabeths for bidding countenance. with it's penetrat- ing eyes, thin-lipped uncompromis- ing mouth, and exceedingly pointed chin.-f 'te
 Don't you love any of the people in those letters?' l demanded with rather more ardor than politeness. There are no people in letters, child. They are only paper and ink. "
 was aunts matter fact reply. My mother is in the letters she writes to me!'' retorted hotly. q am going to keep them always-and ev- erybody else's letters, tool!
 Well, I trust you will have home large enough to accommodate such ubbish But you will think less fool ishly when you are little older, l have no doubt of that As she spoke Aunt Elizabeth ripped in twain a South | American settlers description on the subtle lure and charm of the weld. But if to treasure the pen and ink expression of ones friends thoughts and feelings is a token of folly. then I am no whit the wiser today than I was at the age of eight; for my col lection of letter treasures is such as would have kept Aunt Elizabeth busy with the fire or waste paper basket for many afternoon
 | My rubbish does not however, re- quire extensive accommodation. It is methodically, cunningly stored away in the various drawers and pigeonholes of an old ia shioned, roomy and unused desk, which stands just near enough to my fla vorite fireside chair to indulge a liking for comfort as the accompaniment to a spare afternoon with my treasures. There are letters from my friends of to-