The old tale of youth to youth, the answer of young blood to young blood's call, however often re-enacted, is ever fresh and appealing. Gay, silver-toned, light-headed and light-footed youth was never meant to mate with hoary senility, and never does as long as the right of the things of men prevail. One who has seen the spring and the summer, and even part of the autumn, the blear harbinger of the dismal winter fast approaching, fade and join the mighty caravan of the dead months that make the past, one who has long quaffed the world's bowl of transient joy and its accompanying sorrow, loves a young girl, and loving her repeats the sad irony of things, as of old. Her brother is in financial difficulties, and agrees to repay a large sum of money within a few days. Just at this time the old man's son arrives home from a journey, and at their first meeting falls in love with the maid, in the manner of one strong with the pulse and throb of life, and the last of spring. The old man goes ...
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