He is a 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 -LRB- full of boys and girls , all more or less lovering -RRB- , 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 sung to his accordion , as he tried to say unutterable things with his honest blue eyes . It makes me shiver now to think of the mosquitoes and the damp ; but it was Pauline and Claude Melnotte then , and when I went home we promised to be true to one another , and write every week during the year he was away at school . We parted -- not in tears by any means ; that sort of nonsense comes later , when the romance is less childish -- but quite jolly and comfortable , and I hastened to pour forth the thrilling tale to my faithful sister , who approved of the match , being a perfect ` mush of sentiment ' herself .
I fear it was not a very ardent flame , however , for XXXXX did not write every week , and I did not care a bit ; nevertheless , I kept his picture and gave it a sentimental sigh when I happened to think of it , while he sent messages now and then , and devoted himself to his studies like an ambitious boy as he was .
Augustus Byron Cy Gus Melnotte Pauline first mush war week