Certain inflammable Southerners introduced the new game, and left
such romantic legends of their loves behind them that their
successors were fired with an ambition to do the like, and excel in
all things, from cricket to captivation.
This state of things is not to be wondered at; for America, being
renowned as a "fast" nation, has become a sort of hotbed, and seems
to force humanity into early bloom. Therefore, past generations must
not groan over the sprightly present, but sit in the chimney-corner
and see boys and girls play the game which is too apt to end in a
checkmate for one of the players. To many of the lookers-on, the new
order of things was as good as a puppet-show; for, with the
enthusiasm of youth, the actors performed their parts heartily,
forgetting the audience in their own earnestness. Bless us! what
revolutions went on under the round jackets, and what love-tokens
lay in the pockets thereof. What plots and counterplots occupied the
heads that wore the innocent-looking snoods, and what captives were
taken in the many-colored nets that would come off and have to be
taken care of. What romances blossomed like dandelions along the
road to school, and what tales the river might have told if any one
could have learned its musical speech. How certain gates were
glorified by daily lingerings thereat, and what tender memories hung
about dingy desks, old pens, and books illustrated with all manner
of symbolical designs.
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