, 1889-01-29
MY FIRST LOVE.

"What an old, worn out titleT' / fancy
hear somebody saying, as he or she
turns the leaf and reads the heading of
my idyl. Old, / grant you, sir or
madam, but worn out-neverl Do you
say, as you meet the hundredth face In a
crowd, "What IN old, worn out pat
term No; for though the faces possess
the same features, those features indi-
vidually and their arrangement are ever
varied, even to the millionth face. So it
Is with the story of My First Love-
there arc features in it which you will
doubtless recognize as having formed
part of your day dream, gentle reader,
but as you turn the last leaf of the mar
rative | believe you will feel with me
that none save this old, pure, sweet
phrase has any right to head these lines.
/ am an Englishman, brought up In
all the traditions of an old Tory family
by n dear motherhood rest her soul-of
whom her friends used to say: 'Ahl but
she Is of the old school" Very stiff and
ceremonious, very punctilious and very
polite, but every action fraught with an
old world purity and courtesy that made
one think of tho pictures of Sir Godfrey
and of the perfumes of dried lavender.
Man, says Herbert Spencer, Is formed by
his environment, n my environment
was my mother, a woman of the world,
mark you, bouts DIES ongles. You
must not imagine that | was brought up
to mans estate in ignorance of the foul
gases of the valley and marsh while
breathing the pure air of the mountain
top. The only effect visible of the ten
der influences which guarded my life
till | was four-and-twenty was n certain
reserve of manner and a more thar ordi-
nary English" horror of anything APP
preaching to bad form" / tell YOU all
this TO show you once more how love
laughs Mt preiidiccs and calmly ignores
~preconceivcd ideas.
My mother died with the tulips of
1856, and some of the fellows at the club
persuaded me to come to America, and
Furthermore, with "A view to a thorough
distraction of my thoughts, prevailed
upon me to give a series of readings in
the States of my own and other verses.
| have coquetted IL little with the muse,
and, as would be the case with most
young poets-or rather rhymesters-the
thought of presenting my work viva
voce to the people of the United States
caused n strange thrill of delight. ]
communicated, therefore, with Mai.
Pond, and in the carly autumn of 49,
| sailed for the States, and commenced q
tour which, l am happy to say, was not
unsuccessful.
The following June found me in DEN
yer, Colo, and put up at the Grand
Canon hotel for a week, during which
time | gave a couple of readings and
rested amid the gorgeous scenery of the
state. The third day after my arrival /
had come down as usual to take my
matutinnl coffee in the public dining
room, and was hardly seated when a
lady, whom candor compels mo to de
scribe as IAN old lady" came into the
room, accompanied by a young girl.
They took their seats cxnctly opposite to
ne. A young girl, did | say? Nay, she
was hardly more than q child-17 or 10,
maybe-and her face traced itself upon
my soul in a manner which i. inefface-
able. 1t was a round face, with Just
that slight squareness of jaw which
promised to give to it a wonderful
strength of personality as years went on.
Her coloring was perfect, family
flushed with the dawn of w~omanhood,
with white temples and throat, and q
high, pale forehead, the whole framed
In careless torrent of hair like to liquid
gold. A pair of great wandering, but
withal fearless, blue eyes, q finely
modelled nose, just the least bit tip tilted,
and a mouth Ike those of the cherubs
In Raphael's "Madonna' in the Sistine
chapel. She was a little girl, and her
figure was just taking unto itself the
sweet sinuou curves of womanhood,
which showed themselves as she moved
to her seat with all the untaught, I'M
conscious grace of perfect and healthy
development. Dur eyes met as she sat
down. She looked at me with q full,
frank gaze in which there was an unde-
fined something of half recognition
she had evidently known some one who
resembled me-and then, having satisfied
herself Of my non-identity, she turned
her attention to the older lady and their
respective breakfasts. A moment after
wards / rose and left the room.
During the next two or three days we
met periodically, in the dining room,i In
tho corridors, in the elevator or on the
streets of Denver, and we always threw
II another in passing that glance
which, though apparently absolutely ex-
~prcsslonless, seems to say; IF we knew
one another we should be friends"
Havc you never seen people in the
streets, in theatres, in ball rooms, con-
corning whom, as your eyes meet for a
fractional part of n second, you have
said this to yourself almost uncon-
sciously? l have, and l always regret
these unknown friends of mine, but !
never felt it more strongly than l did
with regard to this golden haired child
whom | met way out in Denver, Colo.
The last morning of my stay in the
city arrived, and / was sitting alone In
my room up stairs, jotting down on q
scrap of music paper the chords of an nc
compartment to a little song that l had
written for n friend In Baltimore. My
task finished, l went down stairs to the
parlor, where there was q piano, to try
their effect, and, finding the room APP
parently empty, / seated myself on the
music stool. As l opened the plano
l heard n rustic, and turning round l
saw my little unknown friend sitting in
u low arm chair in the embrasuro Of u
window, her great blue eyes fixed upon
mo in fearless curiosity. / rose ~instinc-
lively and said;
Shall l Be disturbing you, madcmoi-
selle, If l play over a few chordsY'
"Oh, no." she said. please go on"
AS turned to the keyboard she added:
"Wm my presence disturb you? Shall /
go awayT'
by no Means" l hastened to reply;
ION the contrary. Indeed, | shall take
a - ~