A MEMENTO.

A ROSEBUD, withered and broken,

I tenderly take from its nest,

'Mid the tumbled neckties and rubbish

In my bureau distressingly messed.

And its sweet faint perfume reminds me,

As its leaves I lovingly smell,

Of the bright-eyed, laughing maiden,

On whose bosom it rose and fell.

The waltzes in old "Massachusetts,"

The "Spread" in Lyceum Hall,

The rush for the wreaths on the elm-tree, -

In fancy I now see them all.

How sweet was the stroll in the moonlight,

'Neath the boughs of the lantern-lit trees,

With music and hum of low voices,

Borne faintly along on the breeze.

And so though the blasts of the north-wind

May whirl the sharp sleet 'gainst the pane,

To the bright sunny days of the summer

These leaflets recall me again.

J. T. W.