Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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A WOMAN SCORNED Tis sweet to be young in the spring-time. some person who is widely known in literary circles, remarked. Then, in a sprightly manner, he proceeded to repeat the entire verse, three consecutive times, substituting the words summer—autumn—and winter—in the place of springtime each time, until what is called a joyous poem was completed. Perhaps he was right. I suppose he was, in a way. but for tear that the meaning be misconstrued. I will endeavor to make it so plain that all mistakes will be avoided. He meant. It is sweet for some one else, if you are young in the springtime.” I know; yea, verily! And this is how I obtained my information. I am, by nature, more dignified than my friends. Ever since childhood I have possessed an aloofness becoming to one who is in all ways superior. I do not mean to be conceited, but I have always maintained that the traits one acquires in his youth will follow' him through life; and what more than dignity can be desirable for the president of these United States, or some other high officials? Looking back upon all that has happened, I can see that if I had had the wisdom that is acquired along with the seventeenth birthday, it would probably never have happened. But the chasm between sixteen and seventeen is so deep that it cannot be bridged, so, of course, I could not have known. I remember distinctly that the beginning of my—er—mistake came on the day after school closed. I was feeling rather good, and all that, because of what the coming three months promised. Besides, I had left my studies buoyed up by the most miraculous of all miracles—that is, summer school would know me not this time, as it had previously. So it was that I strolled out of the front door, with my hands in my pockets, and a whistling tune on my lips. But before progressing very far. I stopped, arrested by a peculiar procedure going on beneath the trees. Right here 1 might as well say that I have a little sister. Little sisters, just like the rest of your relations, cannot be helped, and Patricia is no exception to the rule. She is long drawn out for a child of her years; that is. she is inclined to be awkward—a source of extreme embarassment to me. At present she was engaged in bowing profoundly to a fellow female in imitation. as 1 could readily see. of a member oi one of our best families. But the object that attracted ray attention was the person receiving this magnificent courtesy. She had lived around the corner from me the entire ten years of her life, and her name was Cynthia. 1 reflected on what a shameful waste it was to give that beautiful name to such an ungainly bearer. For certainly she was a most ludicrous sight, now more so than usual. A battered doll was thrust under one arm. while with the other she held a borrowed lorgnette, gazing through it at some point over Patricia's head. Her skirt—too short tor even a little girl of her age—seemed to hang unevenly. Page Twenty-nine

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 CLIO LITERARY SOCIETY

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CURRY LITERARY SOCIETY