Ashtabula weekly telegraph. [volume] (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1853-1873, 1865-02-25
Old sweethearts.

1t ia pleasant TO meet old friends. bu,
exceedingly trying to meet an old sweet
heart. Lavender is not more trying tc
the complexion OF brunette. Twas il
HES early forenoon that you knew her
when existence wore nice new cloths dyed
In the rainbow. You quoted poetry to bel
6y the hour, took moonlight strols and
drives, aud quosted various little hipps. ad.
dressed to nights luminary by the poets
which you found in the Dictionary OF
Pos;ical Quotations., and committed ia
memory of er hours of painful study. She
was In raptures, and said you had such q
memory. you remembered everything yos
read. You wore Byronic collars in those
days, cultivated a raven moustuche. for
which you was indebted TO the hair dyer
spent good deal of time on your hair
which was inclined TO curl, and was mildly
given to gin and water.
Sweeibearts used to chide you for the
latter habit, bat it was evident to you that
yea coaldnot be half the romantic hero
hat you was, without little disspa ,iop.
SO you never got model. You wrote
unutlerable poetry in her albnm, and gave
her your miniature. crimson velvet case
You dreamed away hours in building at
mo'pheric country seats, in which your
sweetheart aud you were the only residents
with nothing to do but wander amid
howers paths and quote from those im
practical writer's styled poets.
a Years have outstretched their shadow.
wings between You ddn't marry sweet
heart some how, and life with i,s stern
realities drove all thoughts of her from your
mind. You are brought together egain
unexpectedly, and memory, expert Iele
graph operator that she is, puts you in in
stant communication with o!den times
Sweetheart has fadad OF course, and so
have you. As you dof your hat in salu.
tatiou. you read a surprise 10 her look, and
you remember that your hair don't curl
eny more; the cares of life have ploughed
burrows in your 'Grecian forehead, as she
delighted once to call it, and Time with
his scy'he, has moved away qnile clear
ing on the top Of your head. You haven't
Oh empty hair-dye bottle, even to remind
her oil the raven mustache of other days,
and your sandy beard needs trimming sadly.
Sweetheart langhs at some poorly execul ed
Joke ghost of that once captivat ing wit. J
aud you never noticed before that she had
such homely profile. You are suddenly
and iorcIbly reminded that time is 'on the
wing, aud you are growing old.
Sweetheart introduces her husband to
you, and tells him with litter, (Which is
II painful caricaiure of her girlish laugh,
once SO musical and fascinating you com
pared il 10 dipping of plant willows in the
waterfall, don't you remembei?) that you
are an old beau Then turning 10 you, she
inqnlres, do you love poetry as
much as you ever did? Poetry! stuff!
You put your handon the Tribune A mauac
and sffifm that You had not read line of
poetry for years. During the day you go
about your business in a wandering man
ntr. The old days come back ogan, and
you live In the past. You go home, and
the presence of your family, not at all
visionary or unreal, dispels the unsutstan.
'lal visions conjured up by unexpectedly
meeting an old sweetheart.