The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1882-06-01
Sweet Sixteen,


She was in a palace car munching
caramels and laughing as only girl
can, YOU know, with her sweet face all
dfmples, that played bo-peep with each
other and the very mischief with me,
woman that / am.
There were two of the witches, but
the other one seemed shade demure;
had, suspected. that most uncertain Of
all passions under the blessed sun, a
lover, who probably had not written to
her for the long eternity of twenty-four
hours; hence the fit of shadow across
the sunshine of her Joy.
How rosy and beautiful they looked,
dipping slender finger and thumb into a
bag of sugar plums-not bit sweeter
than tbey-and laughing at their own
delicious fancies, as if life held nothing
graver; and just wanted to hug both of
them, anyway.
My dimpler wore q brown sacque,
half slipped off from one rounded
shoulder full of cunningest dimples. no
doubt; her hat of many pokes and
plumes and other mysteries, among
which angels would fear tread, bob
bed and nobbed tantalizingly on top OF
most coquettish bangs, while her blue
eyes fairly danced, SO brim full of fun
were they.
How shuddered to think of the un-
lovely possibilities hidden away among
the shadows of the years-the cruel,
cruel years! They would bring her the
stern necessity of wearing her brown
sacque circumspectly on her dimpled
shoulders; her fluffy hair. of the color of
pale gold that the June sun rains down
on the tassels of corn, defiant now of
band or braid, drawn back in properest
precision; righteousness in investing
ten cents in villainous bon bons, and
munching, regardless, in car Of SOL
emn wiseacres; and, worse than all, the
suppressed giggle of society limitations,
if, from the wreck of matter, anything
remains to smile at.
And then the longings of soul for new
bonnets and things; the hankering after
kindred spirits and antique soup bowls;
the refuge of Sunday headaches; the
worriment of washdays and church So
cials; the broken friendships and shat
tered painted china tea-cups; the plan
ming of 800 dinners, to say nothing Of
breakfast hash and afternoon teas, year
after year, all the way through; the
careless morning wrapper and general
slipshodness of home belongings; the
unopened piano and much-read novel,
the gossip. the shrugs and the rest. So
| said in my troubled heart-but so low
that none might hear--to her of the
dimples and mischief lurking eyes, laugh
on, my rosy unknown, for my soul
hears no sweeter music under the blue
arch that is said to shut Heaven from
cur upward gaze; MUNICH caramels to
your hearts content, though the world
trown its worst. Time enough to draw
down the corners of your kissable mouth
into foriorn little Fuckers, when the
aforesaid world shall push, and hurt,
grieve you, time enough to hush the ring
of your merry laughter when the I'M
friendly winters shall ''pelt you with
snow-balls," instead of the pink and
white roses the spring time losses you
to-day.
If only fashion would keep her de
structive clutch from your young life;
if tiattery with its treacherous train
would pass by On the other side, if only
they would!
Better that the gods love you, and
you go softly out some still morrow, in
search of the shore from whose blossom
ing borders no leaf or bud ever comes
drifting across the backward tide, better
and safer.-Free Press