big, brown man now, and, having done
his part in the war, is at work on his farm. We meet sometimes, and
though we try to be dignified and proper, it is quite impossible; there
is a sly twinkle in Cy's eye that upsets my gravity, and we always burst
out laughing at the memory of our early frolics.

My Augustus! oh, my Augustus! my first little lover, and the most
romantic of my boys. At fifteen I met this charming youth, and thought I
had found my fate. It was at a spelling school in a little country town
where I, as a stranger and visitor from the city, was an object of
interest. Painfully conscious of this fact, I sat in a corner trying to
look easy and elegant, with a large red bow under my chin, and a
carnelian ring in full view. Among the boys and girls who frolicked
about me, I saw one lad of seventeen with 'large blue eyes, a noble
brow, and a beautiful straight nose,' as I described him in a letter to
my sister. This attractive youth had a certain air of refinement and
ease of manner that the others lacked; and when I found he was the
minister's son, I felt that I might admire him without loss of dignity.
'Imagine my sensations,' as Miss Burney's Evelina says, when this boy
came and talked to me, a little bashfully at first, but soon quite
freely, and invited me to a huckleberry party next day. I had observed
that he was one of the best spellers. I also observed that his language
was quite elegant; he even quoted Byron, and rolled his eyes in a most
engaging manner, not to mention that he asked who gave me my ring, and
said he depended on escorting me to the berry pasture.

'Dear me, how interesting it was! and when I found myself, next day,
sitting under a tree in the sunny field (full of boys and girls, all
more or less lovering), with the amiable Augustus at my feet, gallantly
supplying me with bushes to strip while we talked about books and
poetry, I really felt as if I had got into a novel, and enjoyed it
immensely. I believe a dim idea that Gus was sentimental hovered in my
mind, but I would not encourage it, though I laughed in my sleeve when
he was spouting Latin for my benefit, and was uncertain whether to box
his ears or simper later in the day, when he languished over the gate,
and said he thought chestnut hair the loveliest in the world.

Poor, dear boy! how innocent and soft-hearted and full of splendid
dreams he was, and what deliciously romantic times we had floating on
the pond, while the frogs