The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1886-07-31
ORIGIN AL ST RY.
THE FIRST AND THE TWENTY-FlRST
BY MRS. CAROLINE A. soULE.

"He is making love to her." said the
elder sister, and the needle work dropped
from her weary fingers and she softly
pulled aside a spray of honeysuckle the
better to watch the summer idyl.
1t was a scene to charm young paint
er, perhaps even an aged one, there was
such wealth of coloring in its height
and length and breadth: sky of Italian
blueness, lawn of Erin greenness and a
golden light that seemed wave from
the orange groves of Pasadena. Yet it
was English, too, the whole of it, for such
days come to that little island in early
summer. The oaks were there in the
background, grand monarchs that had
triumphed over countless tempests and
stood now strong and sturdy. The haw
thorn hedges we're there, too-how lovely
they had been in the May time, huttering
their white blossoms-and how lovely
they we're now with wild flowers creeping
up and down their interlacing stems.
The yews were there, too, old, dark, Gu
rious, like nothing else, with their weird
memories.
Pear and plum trees were trained
against the wall that formed one boun-
dairy, the ruddy line of the bricks stealing
through the branches as freight through
curtains in the winter. The other
boundary was brook, broad and deep,
yet with such clear waters that the white
pebbles that strewed the bottom were
each clearly seen. A rustic bridge
spanned it and on the narrow planks
stood young girl, and close, very close
beside her, young man-she like a lily
in fairness-he like god of the olden
times-tall and straight, with hair of
Saxon gold and face full of manly
strength and manly beauty.
And he was making love to her, as her
sister said. To speak more truly, telling
his love to her, for he had been making
love for a year or two, but until now had
never dared breathe aloud the words.
Now with a CLEAN Of passion on his
cheeks and its light flashing from his
eyes, he was pouring out his soul in
those warm words men use when for the
first time they feel the thrill within their
veins, when for the first time they tell the
story-the story old as the world, yet new
and fresh thousand times each year.
"Yee, he is making love to her." The
elder sister said the words over and
again. "What wonder, either? She is
go fair, and not fairer than she is lovely
in all and everything. Poor fellow He
will share the fate OF a score or so. He
is rustic only, handsome as he is, good
as he is. She must have more than
tall, straight figure, more than face
like his. Learning, refinement = those
little elegancies of speech, those little
delicacies OF manner which only those
born to riches have-she must have those
or she would pine away. Yet this one
would do his best to please her, and he
has house and land. She would not be
poor, and that is oh, SO muchl" And she
thought sadly of three Of her own friends
who had married and gone away to the
great city and were struggling with cold
and hunger and nakedness, their hearts
striving to be strong, but throbbing
mostly with terrible pain.
at is all over now" And she saw the
young man turn away with face which
had lost its color, with eyes that seemed
blind with tears-turn away hastily yet
with weary walk as though the heart
was tired and could barely beat low,
faint pulse.
"All over now. He will come here no
more. l wonder who will be the next"
~
That night as she sat alone in her own
room, her Bible and prayer book open