It is not given to us to love all with whom we may be
familiar in early life. But every one will sincerely love some few of
the companions of his school-days and early manhood. This is really
the sugar of life, and the garrulity of age loves to recount these,
for in his narrative he lives over and revives the attachments of
boyhood. Woman may confess only to her own heart these memories--she
must love only in secret. When the heart is fresh and brimming with
affection, she may love with all the devotion of woman's heart; but if
her love meets no return its birthplace must be its grave. She may
only tell, when she is old, of her successful and more fortunate love.
Ah! how many recount to their grandchildren their love, in budding
youth, for their grandfather, who hide in the secret alcoves of the
heart a more sacred memory of one who found his way there before dear
old grandfather came. What sorrows these memories have sown along the
way of life! but they have winced not when the thorn has pricked; and
how she has folded to her bosom dear John, while imagination made him
the more dear Willie, her first and foremost love! These endure in
secret, and are the more sacred for this; they die only with the dead
heart.
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