after awhile, for arriving late at times I have been witness to the
sad fact, tears would trace pathetic patterns upon her
dust-besprinkled cheeks; and with the advent of the world-illuminating
Barbara, to which event I am drawing near, they ceased altogether.

So began and ended my first romance. One of these days--some quiet
summer's afternoon, when even the air of Pigott Street vibrates with
tenderness beneath the whispered sighs of Memory, I shall walk into
the little grocer's shop and boldly ask to see her. So far have I
already gone as to trace her, and often have I tried to catch sight of
her through the glass door, but hitherto in vain. I know she is the
more or less troubled mother of a numerous progeny. I am told she has
grown stout, and probable enough it is that her tongue has gained
rather than lost in sharpness. Yet under all the unrealities the
clumsy-handed world has built about her, I shall see, I know, the
lithesome little maid with fond, admiring eyes. What help they were
to me I never knew till I had lost them. How hard to gain such eyes I
have learned since. Were we to write the truth in our confession
books, should we not admit the quality we most admire in others is
admiration of ourselves? And is it not a wise selection? If you
would have me admirable, my friend, admire me, and speak your
commendation without stint that in the sunshine of your praises I may
wax. For indifference maketh an indifferent man, and contempt a
contemptible man. Come, is it not true? Does not all that is worthy
in us grow best by honour?

Chief among the remaining figures on my childhood's stage were the
many servants of our house, the "generals," as they were termed. So
rapid, as a rule, was their transit through our kitchen that only one
or two, conspicuous by reason of their lingering, remain upon my view.