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Updated: July 11, 2025
This one was about a travelling man going into a gilded cabaret and ordering a port wine and a fair young girl come out to sing in short skirts that he recognized to be his boyhood's sweetheart Nell; so he sent a waiter to ask her if she had forgot the song she once did sing at her dear old mother's knee, or knees, and she hadn't forgot it and proved she hadn't, because the chorus was "Nearer My God to Thee" sung to ragtime; then the travelling man said she must be good and pure, so come on let's leave this place and they'd be wed.
A great wave of tenderness swept him a flood strong and deep, as he had felt it long ago upon the hill of that Kentish village. The golden boyhood's mood rushed over him once more with all its original splendour. It took a slightly different form, however. He knew better how to direct it for one thing. He pressed the children closer to his side. 'A what? he asked, speaking low as they did.
Every Georgia boy of fifty years ago, with gray-head and tottering step now, remembers his sweetheart, for whom he carried his hat full of peaches to school, and for whom he made the grape-vine swing, and how at noon he swung her there. Take these lines, reader, if you please, as an evidence of how the memories growing out of the associations of boyhood's school-days endure through life.
Wandering ever with tireless feet Through scenes of silence, and jubilee Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet Were thronging the shadowy side of the street As far as the eye could see; Dreaming again, in anticipation, The same old dreams of our boyhood's days That never come true, from the vague sensation Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. Away to the house where I was born!
A time of peculiar pinching hardship came, and Jean Francois again bade Paris adieu and made his way back to Gruchy. There he could work in the fields, gather varech on the seashore, and possibly paint portraits now and then just for amusement. And thus he would live out the measure of his days. The visit of Jean Francois to his boyhood's home proved a repetition of the first.
"Boys, what have you done!" groaned Kate, falling back in her chair. "What have you done!" To William her words were like an electric shock stirring him to instant action. He sprang abruptly to his feet. "Well, whatever we've done, we've done it," he declared sternly; "and now we must do the rest and do it well, too. He's the son of my boyhood's dearest friend, and he shall be made welcome.
This, with the fatigue, and the sun, would put a man asleep; and soon as the man was asleep, the donkey would lie down. My donkey shall never see his boyhood's home again. He has lain down once too often. He must die. We all stood in the vast theatre of ancient Ephesus, the stone-benched amphitheatre I mean and had our picture taken. We looked as proper there as we would look any where, I suppose.
This memory brought with it a mighty longing in Hartmut's soul for those arms, for a home, for all that he had lost since those boyhood's days, which, despite their severity, had been so innocent, so peaceful, so happy. The door opened, and a servant entered and extended a card on a salver. Rojanow made an impatient movement to take it away. "Didn't I tell you I wouldn't see any one else to-day?"
Hamlin gravely, as he indicated them on the wall. "You see they reminded me of church and my boyhood's slumbers there. I have never slept so peacefully since." Seth's face brightened so interestedly at what he believed to be a suggestion of his guest's conversion that Mr. Hamlin was fain to change the subject.
Mighty warrior shade, bearing upon thy tense, heroic face traces of Mount McGregor's pain! Thou from Atlanta march! Thou from Winchester ride! Thou from Mentor Mecca, thy glazing orbs lighting with boyhood's longing for ocean's trackless wave! And ye mighty hosts of marching and countermarching nineteenth-century worthies, witness bear to worth of your most thrilling times!
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