The Renderings of a Spinster.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVI, Issue XXIII, 8 June 1901, Page 1094

The Renderings of a Spinster.

I hev seen girls—so has Martha Ann seen ’em. too—what ain’t happy ’less they’ve got some man ur other on the string. Don't make no kind o’matter whether they mean to marry him ur not; it’s jest the same. They've got to hev him shaggin’ 'round art er them. They don’t know how io lead a sweet, sunshiny, onconscious life, sech as the birds in the posies live—jest bein’ sweet ’n pritty without, a-knowin’ uv it, an’ a-blessin' everybody what comes nigh cm. It s too bad! but the one individual most in the mind uv the everidge girl is herself. The next one is the girl she's tryin’ to beat out; or else it’s the man they’re both set onto orderin’ ’round. Jest as soon as a engagement is pronounced, every other girl in the neighbourhood sets herself right down an’ goes to wonderin' how on airth the other one managed to ketch him!

Ef by any manner uv means a woman gits a-thinkin’ a good deal uv a man. an’ ef she don't git nigh nuff to him to larn jist the kind uv stuff he’s made outen, she’s sure’s the world to go to deckin’ him out with a character so fine that he wouldn't know it ef it was labelled an' sent to his office as his’n. She makes a kind uv lever outen her love fer him. An’ she lifts an' hists till she gits him up onto a little gold throne. Then she looks onto him so longin’ like that she don’t git sight uv the men what come nigh her and are willin’ to be plain, human sort uv good fellers. Ef we hain’t got no pertickerler hankerin' arter a thing it’s apt ter 'pear oneommon foolish when other folks go tew wearin’ uv theirselves all out a-tryin’ ter git a-holt uv it. 1 kinder wonder sometimes, when

settin’ by myself in th* lonesome twilite. ef th’ heft uv things what all on us is a-sweatin’ arter don’t look summat that way ter th’ angels. Kaze it’s mighty curus how things changes ’cordin’ ter th’ p’int uv view. Ef we’re a-lookin’ up, they ’pear ter be kinder circled with a skyey glory. An’ our fingers itches ter grab ’em. an' our hearts bleeds with th' want uv ’em. an’ our eyes gits dim with longin’. But ef we jest ’tend t' our climbin' till we git up whar we kin look down onter ’em it’s wonderful how different ’pearin’ they be. Jest ez like ez not we’ll see th’ brown earth sile all settled onter ’em. An’ we find out. mebbe. that th’ beautiful mist what made all them ranebows inter our eyes when we wuz a-lookin’ up’ards hain't nothin’ more’n th* swampv fogs uv th’ lowlands. An’ now thet I think uv it. posserbly th’ reasons why sum uv them prayers uv ourn hain’t ans’ered is kaze they hain’t reelly wuth it when they’re looked down onter from th’ top. —Elvira Hopinks, of Tompkins’ Corners.