The Daily clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1866-1888, 1876-11-03
The Markets
TURN out tonight


Others may come after him-others
usually do come after him, for seldom i
it that girl marries her first love-but
TO none does she ever attach that strange
intangible interest, sacred with never
expressed pathos, which attaches to her
first sweetheart Her memory of him
is like the faint delicate perfume which
still clings about that FIRST wild rose of
summer that he gave her during the first
tete-a tete walk that they ever took 10.
gether in the woods. How we'll she re.
members it all 1t was the first summer
after she left school. 1t was a little out.
of the way summer resort where she was
staying with party of friends, aud where
he chanced to come, too, and after meet
ing her, fingered.
She was a littio iluttered to find her.
self walking alone with him, quite by
accident, Of course; both tried to keen
up Il lively aud natural conversation, and.
rs a consequence, it was perfectly absurd
somewhat constrained, aud altogether
ffagmentary.
Then he saw this rose, the only one
upon bush full of buds that grew close
to the moss grown trunk of fallen tree
just over the source OF a tiny stream of
water that wound. like tangled thread,
in aud out among the trees. He gath
cred and gave it to her with a halt shy,
half laughing look--so transparency
conscious in It's cndeavor to be uncon-
scious J and with a remark intended to be
sprightly. t'Iatsl" ttHt
And she took il, between blush and
smile, with swift: up hook from eyes
that were busily playing hido.aud. seek
under the becoming shelter Of long
| lashes. aa.aaa1
She tucked it 10 at the waistband of
her dress, just as she would have done
any other rOse. glaaI a1.a4
He does not know--he will never
know--that as soon ~ she was alone ia
her room, with the door locked, she drew
It carefully from her belt and kissed IL
dainily, though with repreAsod passion,
before she exalted il TO the position of
honor in her pet vase, bit of pretty
china, just big enough to hold this one
flower fitly, aud in honor Of il filed care
fully with clear cool water by her own
pretty fresh fingers, as rosily tipped as
those of Aurore IN the act of drawing
aside the curtains of the dawn.
What was the unspoken compact be.
tween them that caused Der, standing
before her glass in her simple white
dress that evening, to pose her flower
shyly among the FURNISHED waves OF her
hair2
VIII she ever forget how his eyes
thanked her? Will she. ever forget the
night on which she wore it? Was there
ever another night like that? Will
there ever be again2t 2th' al aa
For her, no. For every girl who has
yet to meet her first love, yes. There
will be just one such for each girl, but
never another.
Was it the earth she trod on? How
beautiful everything was As ifthe world
was just new-made! The lights, the
music, the gay chatter, bright smiles,
ringing laughter And when she danced
with bim she seemed to have wings to
her feet. Then at last they were alone to-
gether in the cool fragrant, dewy darkness
outside and to be together, to be arm.
in arm, to hear each others voices, that
was all they cared for. There was no
other world for them that night They
were separated from our common earth
by such a swift flowing tide of deep but
unspoken delight. UnspokeD, because
young affection is too sacred for words.
First love is born dumb, and learns
speech but slowly. Deep down in each
heart was the rapturous consciousness of
loving and being beloved by the other,
which is worth a lifetime Of "I loSe
yous - 9hI H fna e0 1ha
1t brimmed each heart with suffieing
delight, even as a flower cup is brimmed
with dew. The sun will drink the dew
up by and by. even as the world drinks
up this fountain Of innocent gladness.
But the dew has been in she flower. cup
and in the girls heart. First love, whose
memory never departs. ~.
The wild rose in her hair was withered
when she again stood before her glass
with flushed cheeks and new brightness
in her eyes. But she laid it--Rs care.
fully as a young mother might lay her
trst born in its cradle--between two
pages of Tennyson, upon a poem that he
had read to her the day before II rests
there still. .l.83 Issa
To a careless observer, what matters
worn copy Of TeEnyson, witha withered
wild rose pressed between its leaves?
But to her it is all that is left, maybe,
of the purest and tenderest romance of a
| girls life: itiisa the first gift Of her first
| lover +t....rzf f.sa