Gay-Heartedness
Walking on the old Navy Yard bridge, Washington, D. C., once with a companion, Mr. Marshall, from England, a great traveler and observer, as a squad of laughing young black girls pass’d us—then two copper-color’d boys, one good-looking lad 15 or 16, barefoot, running after—“What gay creatures they all appear to be,” said Mr. M. Then we fell to talking about the general lack of buoyant animal spirits. “I think,” said Mr. M., “that in all my travels, and all my intercourse with people of every and any class, especially the cultivated ones, (the literary and fashionable folks,) I have never yet come across what I should call a really GAY-HEARTED MAN.”
It was a terrible criticism—cut into me like a surgeon’s lance. Made me silent the whole walk home.