KIDD'S OWN JOUKNAL. 



351 



lieve her mother most tender, when she is 

 most severe. But first love, once cherished 

 in a noble heart, can never be completely 

 vanquished. It may be hidden, but never 

 extinguished. There will be an ember, 

 burning in secret till life itself shall be no 

 more. But it is rare that the parent 

 knows this. Her child has vowed sub- 

 mission to her will ; and, as far as nature 

 will permit, she will perform her promise. 

 Her brow will be bright as before ; her 

 eyes smile with the beam of happiness ; and 

 the music of her tongue flow richly as ever. 

 Under these appearances, a mother congratu- 

 lates herself on the obedience of her child, 

 and the success of her plans. To promote 

 these, she leads her into company, where 

 another and a wealthier suitor becomes en- 

 amoured. She acquiesces ; and by persua- 

 sive arts, paves the way for his acceptance 

 with her daughter. What can she do but 

 submit, or add, to the anguish of a de&oi&te 

 heart, the ill-will of a mother ? Neither is 

 hypocrisy here. She really will, to her ut- 

 most, transplant her affections to the choice 

 of her parent. The wedding-day approaches, 

 — friends and acquaintances pour in con- 

 gratulations and compliments, and the maid 

 becomes a wife. But has she smothered the 

 remembrances of him, around whose heart 

 her young affections twined ? What was the 

 language of that dreamy hue, lurking about 

 her cheek as she stood in loveliness at the 

 altar ? What was the meaning of that frequent 

 tear, which glittered under her eye-lids? Was 

 it nothing more than the mere pathos of the 

 marriage hour ? Oh ! you are but blind detectors 

 of the workings of the mind, who think so. Her 

 mother's delighted vanity may conclude thus; 

 but it was a thought, chaste as melancholy, 

 of him who should have been by her side at 

 this hour. She can never love another as 

 she did him. 



First love is the only love, in real inten- 

 sity and truth. But the world shall not 

 know this. She who has sacrificed her, shall 

 prove her all that she can desire. She will 

 return from the altar in smiles ; and the first 

 moment she can steal from the gay crowd 

 around, she will retire to her room, and in- 

 voke the God above, with tears and sighs, to 

 enable her to submit, and be resigned. 

 Would it be thus, had she wedded him to 

 whom her soul was drawn by the magnet of 

 sympathy ? Like a stream, forced from the 

 channel where Nature placed it, her heart 

 will follow the track of duty that now lies 

 before her ; but it will never regain its native 

 energy. 



Let us continue the scene. All hopes of 

 union with her bosom's choice, are blasted. 

 They must voyage on to Eternity in different 

 tracks, and with different duties to perform. 

 Time flows by : he marries, and settles far 



away. She is encircled with domestic cares ; 

 and, judging from her affectionate conduct as 

 a wife, her visions of youthful happiness have 

 flitted into oblivion. Among her acquaint- 

 ances, the subject is entirely forgotten ; or 

 but rarely resuscitated by gossiping gran- 

 dams, who serve as living registers to the 

 neighborhood. 



But has first-love left no soul-graved re- 

 cord behind it ? Have all the dreams of 

 early passion completely vanished from her 

 memory? As far as one unhallowed Avish 

 goes, first-love is quenched : but she can no 

 more refrain from recalling ideas of her once 

 blissful prospect, than she could drain the 

 life-blood from her heart and yet live on. 

 No ! in a thousand ways, shadows of young 

 hope will pass over her soul. Voices, 

 features, and, above all, those walks and 

 streams where first-love hovered round 

 their steps, — will awaken recollections of 

 the past, and of him who hallowed all 

 her hours. In the melancholy noons of 

 autumn, when she stands by her parlor- 

 window, and gazes with a vacant eye on 

 the scene without, — thoughts of bygone 

 days will sadden her mind with momentary 

 regret. And often, when sitting round a 

 winter's fire, with her husband before her read- 

 ing some volume, and her infant playing with 

 her hand — even then a mournful shadow of 

 the past will obtrude on her inward eye. And 

 when her husband laughs at her musings, she 

 will smile them away, and blush for her un- 

 revealed error. 



There is a misery beyond all this ; per- 

 chance, attendant on her disappointed first- 

 love. I mean a sudden meeting with its 

 object in after years. In the ball-room, 

 for instance, while floating down the dance 

 amid the rich glare of the chandeliers, and 

 the swell of music, the eye of her first 

 Love unexpectedly glances on her. Then who 

 shall describe the sickness of soul, the chill 

 creeping of the blood, and thrill of the loaded 

 brain, — that now bewilder her ? Her heart 

 seems to pant beneath the burden of recol- 

 lections, — her cheek is dimmed into a pale- 

 ness, — her whole frame shivers, — and then, 

 friends approach. She feigns to be unwell ; 

 leaves the room ; the dance is re -commenced, 

 and the Spirit of the night resumes her reign. 

 This is not romance ; or if it be, it is " the 

 romance of real life." 



{To be Concluded in our next.) 



Triumph of principle. — It requires no 

 little heroism to act always in accordance with 

 right principles; but it is the obstacles that 

 present themselves to our doing so, which 

 render the triumph to be achieved over them 

 more meritorious. 



Fear. — That man, whose overbearing makes 

 others fear him, has great reason to fear them. 



