Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1890 — THE FIRST LOVE. [ARTICLE]

THE FIRST LOVE.

Homer Baseford Brings Up Old Memories. Who of all the hundreds and thousands of old boys does not remember —with a sigh of regret that his youth is passed—his first love? Who of all that vast army does not remember the dimplecheeked, brown-eyed lass, or the girl with yellow, sunshiny curls and laughing face, or the fair, blue-eyed little girl—with whom he fell into his first love? Many of all tills crowd have girls of their own now, whose beaus hang on the front gate until it isn’t there any longer, just the same as we did when we were boys. My first love! Softly I breathe the words that mean so little to me. But I speak reverentially of the years that are gone, out of respect to the memory of those who went with them. The recollection of early kisses and sly hugs, stolen on the way home from “singin’, ” comes up and forces a sigh; but, withal, the thoughts of my youth can only be pleasant ones. It is not altogether clear to me now how I came to imagine myself in love with the sweet and pretty Barbara. I only know that I called her “my girl” in an off-hand manner, and all the neighbors somehow admitted that I had an undisputed right to the claim. Barbara did not wear bangs or any of the patent arrangements that go to complete feminine toilets of today. Perhaps she would have worn them had they been in vogue, but I will give the little girl the benefit of the doubt. Many months were spent in the usual love-making preliminaries before I felt it my duty to tell Barbara of my love for her. On the day I had set for making the avowal, I dressed up just after noon and set off down the road for the sweet child’s house. My costume was of linsey, and it consisted simply of shirt, coat, and trousers. The latter were of a large, roomy pattern, very much like those worn to-day by young men who follow the styles. Mine were not cut from any particular style, and they did not reach my ankles, but two little things like that did not bother me. Barbara was sitting on the style when I reached her house, and she said “goodevenin ’ ” that pretty mid-afternoon in such a pleasant way that I wanted to bite her then and there. A big shade was tied down over her head to keep the sun from dropping freckles on the rosy cheeks, while mitts of her own making encased the small hands I so longed to hold. I forgot my mission as I looked at her, and my dream was broken by some stray remark about the need of rain. But I braced up to my task, and began to collect my thoughts. How many times I changed from one foot to the other in ten minutes! How often P ran my big, brown hands into those short, roomy trousers! But I told my Barbara I loved her, and she seemed glad of it all. After that day, what moments of bliss we spent together, and what great fools we made of ourselves from that time on, until one day she gave the north neighbor’s son a bunch of field daisies; plucked by her own small hands. We quarreled then, and my first love was over. Although it was only silly child’s play, I wish I could play it over again. Such pleasures come but once in a lifetime, and blest is he who has to experience them. — Detroit Free Press.