American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1880-01-03
HIS EARLIEST LOVE.

of Human Life.
al would give something handsome
for a photograph of the fellow who has
never been bewitched by pair of fem
mime eyes; who never felt the strong
temptation that turks in girlish lips and
plays hide-and-seek In girlish cheeks /;
who never gave himself up to sweet
dreams Of bliss. In fine, show me the
man who can not unloose some pre-
cioIs remembrance of the time when he
was in love, and I'll show you an in
stance of thwarted nature.''
There he stood-Sarchedon!
He had been abroad the greater por-
ton of the year. 1t was like him to
come upon me unheralded. 1 had
thought of him three thousand miles
away, and now he stood before me a
little grayer than when saw him last,
but erect, sturdy, strong of limb and
with his eyes suffused with softepino
light that think was reflected from his
glad heart ut sight of his friend-the
only one, 50 far as know, to whom he
ever quite uDbends.
There was just the faintest shade of
banter in his tone, but did not fail to
catch the truth. conld SEQ under his
airy manner the old gravity that 1 lave
always found fnseparable from him in
any mood. 1t is q curious earnestness.
have never observed it in other men.
anc 1t was that which first attracted me
70 MIN long ago when he had been to
the opera one night with Dawdler and
came upon me over a lunch of deviled
GRAD. Then It was only the fancy of a
moment, heightened, it NAV be. by the
cynical emphasis of his speech and the
unconscious superiority of his attitude
toward the empty-headed little prig
whom ne had, oddly enough, chosen to
De his companion for the time. Since
then l have learned that it is the most
striking outward symbol of UNIQUE
character; the italicised manifestation
OF a singularly rugged nature-of an in.
dividuajity wholly his own. 1t is unlike
lne gravity of other men in that it never
chiiis me. I have never tried t. analyze
1t, but now am conscious that when ]
nave been with him, his grave, passion.
less face has touched me as something
indefinably pathetic. 1 think it is the
race OF one who hopes, but whose hope
Is always Swallowed by the uncertainty
tnat hovers over the horizon of that Far
Country in which his lonely journey
shall end-the Country where dwell the
treasures of which his heart was raw
lshed by the Mound-builders who DIV
their trade in graveyards.
Something of this 1 thought in jum-
oied way during the moment of my sur.
prise at seeing my dear old friend and
listening to the voice which 1 often
wish may be the last human sound ]
shall hear.
pass over our greetings, the questions
hung at him as to his wanderings and
the quaint kindness with which he per.
sisted In evading me and coming bach
again and again to the pleasant thought
with which he bounced upon me in his
inimitable way.
WE'LL" l said, "what's the matter
nowP Has any body told you he wa:
never in love?''
IL have sometimes heard men say
they did not believe in it, and, confound
them, they have put their pretended in,
credulity into books; but have invari
ably found that they were either dys
pePtic or unsuccessful in love, or SO in
formally disagreeable that they hated
themselves as cordially as others hated
them. All there is about it, they Sc,
their yeast and let it sour, and when tht