Daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, Va. [W. Va.]) 1859-1865, 1864-11-09
FInsT LOVE.

Mr.. Yates, the novelist, in. his new
work, "Broken to Harness." thus dis
courses on the character of first love-
He regards it, it will be seen, as species
of love we never feel again in our lives:
Marvellous, marvellous time! so shor
in its duration, but leaving such an in-
delible impress on the memoryl A charm
ed period, (hasheesh-dream) impossi>
BILE ever to be renewed, a prolonged ins
toxication scarcely capable of realisation
inone's sober moments. a thing of once,
which, gone, never comes again, but
leaves behind it remembrances which,
while they cause the lips to curl at
their past folly, yet give the heart a
twiDge in the reflection that the earn
estness which outbalanced the folly, the
power of entering into and being swayed
by them, the youth-that is it, after all;
confess itI-the youth is vanished forevs
er and aye. What and where was the
glamour, the power of which you dimly
remember but cannot recalR Put aside
the claret>jng, and, with your feet on the
fender, as you sit alone, analyse that bys
gone time. The form comes clearly out OF
the mist; the dark brown, banded hair;
the quiet, earnest eyes; the slight, lissome
floating "reminiscences of violet perfume,
a subtle, delicate essence, which made
your heart beat with extra vigOr even be
fore your eyes rested on what they louged
for Kisses and and.clasps. and ardent
chances were the current coin of those
days; one of siaher of the former missed,
say at parting for the night, for instance.
made you wfetched; one of the latter shot
10 different direction sent you to toss
sIeepless all night on your bed, and to rise
with the face of O murderer, with something
not very different frem the mind of one.
There were heartaches in those days, real
dead, dull pains, sickenfng longings,
spasms of hope and fear; dim dread of
missing the prize on the attainment of
which the whole life was set; physical
state which would be as impossible. to
your mind now asgwonld the early infan-
lille freshness to your lined cheek, or the
curling locks of boyhood to your grizzled
pate. 1t is gone, clean gone. Perhaps it
snapped off short with wrench, leaving
its victim with gaping wound
which the searing-iron of time has
completely cicatrlsed; perhaps 1t mel
lowed down into calm, peaceful
coujugal, and subsequently, paternal atfecs
ton. But tell me not, o hard hearted aud
worldly minded bachelor, intent on the
subIimation of self, and cynically enough
disposed to all that is innocent and tender,
tell me not, o husband / however devoted
TO your wife, however proud of your off
springfield me not that regret for that
banished time does not sometimes cross
your mind, that the sense of having lost the
power of enjoying such tWo-penuy happt-
ness, ay, and such petty misery, does not
cost you an occasional pang. 1t still goes
on, that tragi comedy, the same as ever
though the actors be different, though our
places are now in the cushioned gallery
among the spectators, instead of on the
stage, aud We witness the performance
not with envy. not with admiration, but
with strange feeling OF bewiIdermenttha,
such things once were with us-thht the
daIliauCes Ofthe puppets, and the liquiC
jargou which they speak, once were ouI
delight, and that we once had the pass
key to that blissful world whose pleasurel
and whose sorrows now alike fail to in
terest os.