The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1872-1881, 1876-07-14
a GSrss First Lore.

IOve-but 10 none does she ever at
tach 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 tetc.
a-tete walk that they ever took togeth'
er in the woods. How well she re
members il ALI It was the first sum
mer after she left school. 1t was a
little out of.the-way summer resort,
where she was staying with a party
of friends, and where he chanced u
come, too, and, after meeting her, lin
gered.
She was little Auttered to find her
self walking alone with him, quite by
accident, of course, and both tried t.
keep a lively and natural converse
ton, and as consequence 1t was per
fectly absurd, somewhat constrained
and altogether fragmentary.
Then he saw this rose, the only one
upon a bush full Of buds that grew
Close to the moss-grown trunk Of a
fallen tree just over the source Of
tiny stream Of water that wound, like
a tangled thread, in and out among
the trees. He gathered and gave III
her with a half shy, half laughing
look--so transparently conrcious in its
endeavor to be unconscious, and with
a remark intended to be sprightly.
And she took il, between blush
and 4 smile, with a swift us-look from
eyes that were busily playing hide
and-seek under the becoming shelter
Of long lashes.
She tucked il in the waistband Of
her dress, just as she would have done
any other rose, but how careful she
was, not by any sudden movement TO
leftover it Of its simple circlet Of pale
pink leaves!
He does not know-he never will
kpow-that as soon as she was alone
in her room, with the door locked, she
drew it carefully from her belt and
kissed it daintily, though with repress-
ed passion, before she exalted it 10
the position Of honor in her pet vase,
bit of bijouterie, just long enough
to hold this one flower fitly and in
honor Of il filed carefully with clear
cool water by her own pretty fresh
fingers, as Iosily tipped as those Of
Aurora in the act OF drawing aside
the curtains,of the dawn.
What was the unspoken compact
between them. that caused her, stand
ing before her glass in her simple
white dress that same evening, to poist
the flowers among the FURNISHED
waves Of her hair!
Will she ever forget how his eyes
thanked her? Will she ever forget
the night on which she wore it? Wa
there ever another night like that
viii there ever he agains For her
no. For every girl who has yet Ia
meet her first lover, yes. There will
be Just one such for each girl, but new
er another.
Was it the earth she trod ony How
beautiful every thing was! As if the
world were just made! The lights,
the music, the gay chatter, bright
smiles, ringing laughter!
And when she danced with him she
seemed to have wings to her feet.
Then at last they were alone togeth'
er in the cool. fragrant, dewy dark
ness outside, and to be together, to be
arm in, to hear each others voices,
was all they cared for. There was
no other world for them that uight.
I
They were separated from our CON-
mon earth by such a swift flowing
tide of deep but unspoken delight.
Unspoken because young affection Il
too sacred for words.
First love is born dumb, and learns
speech but slowly. Deep down in each
heart was the rapturous conscious
ness of being loved by the other which
is worth life time Of 81 love yous!'
1t brimmed each heart with sufiic'
ing delight, even as a flower cup Is
brimmed with dew. The sun will
drink the dew up by and by, even al
the world will dry up this fountain Of
innocent gladuess. But the dew ha'
been in the flower cup and in th'
girls heart. First love. whose mem
ory never departs. The wild rose il
her hair was withered when she again
stood before her glass. with hnshet
checks and a new brightness in hel
eyes. But she laid it-as CAREFUL,
as a young mother might lay her frs
born iu the cradle-between two page
of Tennyson, upon a poem that h
had read to her the day before. i
rests there still.
To a careless observer. what mat
ters a worn copy of Tennyson with
withered wild rose pressed between ii
leavesy