Such intangible sources must of necessity be fragile--a perfume linked
to a thin chime, elusive faces on the shadowy mirror of the past,
memories of things not seen but felt in poignant unfathomable emotions.
This is a magic different from that of to-day; here perhaps are only
some wistful ghosts brought back among contemptuous realities--a man in
a faded blue uniform with a face drawn by suffering long ended, a girl
whose charm, like the flowers, is dust.
It is all as remote as a smile remembered from youth. Such apparent
trifles often hold a steadfast loveliness more enduring than the
greatest tragedies and successes. They are irradiated by an
imperishable romance: this is my desire--to hold out an immaterial
glamour, a vapor, delicately colored by old days in which you may
discover the romantic and amiable shapes of secret dreams.
I
It will serve us best to see Elim Meikeljohn first as he walked across
Winthrop Common. It was very early in April and should have been cool,
but it was warm--already there were some vermilion buds on the maples--
and Elim's worn shad-belly coat was uncomfortably heavy. The coat was
too big for him--his father had worn it for twenty years before he had
given it to Elim for college--and it hung in somber greenish folds
about his tall spare body. He carried an equally oppressive black stiff
hat in a bony hand and exposed a gaunt serious countenance.
Other young men passing, vaulting lightly over the wooden rail that
enclosed the common, wore flowing whiskers, crisply black or brown like
a tobacco leaf; their luxuriant waistcoats were draped with a profusion
of chains and seals; but Elim's face was austerely shaved, he wore
neither brocade nor gold, and he kept seriously to the path.
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