Des Arc weekly citizen., 1867-04-13
Old Sweethsarts.

| " " PtAS " oie 'tt tsiAs'S' ""' exccedingly trying to meet with an old sweetheart. Lavender is not more try l ing to the, complexion of brunette Twas in lifc's early forenoon that you knew her, when existence wore nice new clothes, dyed. ip the establishment fofsho.rainbdw. GY Gu quoted poetry to her by the hour, took moonlight strolls and drives, and quoted various little things addressed to nights luminary by the poets which you found in the Die ttionary of sPoetical sQubtations,. and committed to memory after hours of 1 painful study. She was in raptures and said you had such mcmory-you remembered everything you read. You wore Byronical collars in those days, cultivated fine raven moustachc, fer which you were indebted to the hair l dyer spentsa good deal of time on your hair, which was inclined to curl, and was mildly given'to gin and watcr.-- Your sweetheart used to gently chide you for the latter habit, Ibut'it was evil Fdent.to you that you wouldn't be half the romantic youth that you was. with cut little dissipation, so you never "got medal" = .3
 You wrote unhtterablc poetry in her album, and gave her your miniature. in a erimsor-velvet case. You dreamed away hours in building atmospheric country seats in which your sweetheart and you wcrct only residents, with nothing to do but wander amid flow cry paths and quote from those imprac- tical. writers. called poets. ;. "Years have outstretched their shad- owy wings between.' Yeus didn't marry sweetheart somehow, and love with. its stern, realities drove all thoughts or her from your mind. You are broughttogetheragain unexpected ly, and memory, expert telegraph ops orator that she is, puts you in instant communication with, olden times.- | Sweetheart has faded of course, and so have you. As you doff your hat in sal utation, you read a surprise in her look and then you remember that your hair don't curl any more {; the cares of life have plowed furrows in nyourgsGrccian l forehead" as she delighted once. to call lit, and time with his scythe, has moved away quite clearing on the top of | | i H.N ..t tf
 You havn't an empty hair dye bottle even to reInindsherd ofsthe raven mous- tachc of other days, and your sandy beard needs trimming badly. Sweet heart laughs at some. poorly executed joke (ghosts of that once captivating with,) and you perceive she has .a. front tooth gone, and you never noticed be- fore that she had such homely profile. You are suddenly and forcibly remind cd that, time is "on the wipg, land you are growing old.sVads AllhiN~
 Sweetheart introduces her husband to you and tells him with a litter, { (which is . painful csia'icats,re of her ! lgirlish laugh, once so musical and fas- cinatings yoa comparcdit to the pip ping of pliant willows in the water fall, dona you remember ? that youare "an old beau" .el,i,rs ~ai.
 Then returning to you. she inquiries, Do you love poetry as much as you ever did?'s Poetry. Stuff. You place your hand on the Tribune almanac and affirm that you have not read line of
 poetry for years. ,w
 l During the day you go about your
 business in a wandering manner.y The
 old days come back again and yoii live
 in the past. You go homo, aud the \ presence of your family, not visionary
 or unreal, dispels the substantial vis-
 ions conjurcd by meeting ''an oldswcct-
 heart" tvsl7a