The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1850-12-14
Correspondence Of The Cecil Wing.
Waysiile Epistles.-NO. ,.

WAfSInE, Dec. 1th lo5U.
n Roiny Day-7He French, and Sal
Observation-Disclosures Domes.
tic observation-disclosures, &c.
My DEAR R-.-How appropriate this e.
cas- gifted poets.
"The day is cold, and dark, and drcary,
II rains, and the wind is never weary
The vines still cling to the mouldering wall,
And at every gust the dead leaves tall.'
Perhaps the last line of my quotation is slight
" incorrect; for s'the dead leaves srew the for
est walks" and the naked branches wave against
a stormy sky. Yes, stormy--for we have had
nothing but the same dull, damp, muggy, misty
weather for the last three or four days. 1t is said
the French pick on such disagreeable weather.
or. rather, such gloomy weather causes them, to
commit suicide. And no wonder. The French
are of a mercurial and excitabe disposition, and
TO avoid the lassitude and depression of spirits
incident to dull weather, shuttle Oft the mortal
coil. Whether they by so doing better ''the ills
they have," shall not now stop to inquire as
have not the least notion Of initiating them.
No, notI. For with all the disagreeableness of
wet days, have a liking for them. l love 10
sit down in my quiet room, and watch from the
window the smoking cattle, standing leisurely
chewing the cui, or an occasional straggler hur-
rving past to seek some place of shelter. On
wet days, too. take peculiar delight in reading
old romantic stories. The heroes and herones
in their antiquated CARDS, appear to come and
fit around me, and |, for the time, live in world
Of my own creation. shut my eyes to the cares
Of every day life, and minglc in the grim throng
laugh with them in their joys, and weep with
them in their sorrows, and tor the nonce am
happy. But gradually the throng glides away,
6p1 in nd
nlone. Every thing looks gloomy. The rain
drops patier monotonously against my window
pane--,he few coorless and Scentless flowers
hang dropping on their stalks-the fields look
sere and soggy, and all nature wears sombre
aspect Then it is that my spirits take their hue
from the hour, and as sit solitary and sad, with
no one to smile on me, or cheer me with words
of comfort feel it is not good for man to be alone
Bachelor as am, picture to myself quiet
home. And in imagination go and gaze in
upon it. There, by a cheerful fire, sits fond
husband, and by his side an atfectionate wife
Two or three light-heartcd children are sporting
around the room, or reading books and papers
with which the table is well stocked The cat
sits purring in the corner and every thing looks
80 afiectionatc and cosy that the thought comes
stealing over me, which the wise nun of old ut
.ered-"whoso fndcth wife tindeth good
thing, and obtaineth favor of the Lord.''
A great poet has said,
"Ah, loving is painful thrill,
But not to love more painful still''
And to this conclusion must every one come
who will sit down and commune with his own
heart. know page after page has been writ
ten in prose, to prove the siniulness oflove. |
know volume after volume has been written in
poetry, the burden of which was-''Love mott"
And also know that thousands have loved
have been unrequited, and with crushed hearts
have gone down to untimely graves. But what
then1 Shall we on account thereof. stife
all the finer feelings of our nature1 Because
then slowed not wisely, but too WE'LL" shall we
suffer the founts of affection within our bosoms
to become stagnant and impure7 No, no. You
may talk to me as you will of treading down
every passion-of becoming callou', and indit-
ferent; but riH mott can not believe it. There
are times when we heed not stlle voice of the
charmer, charm he never wisely"-there are
times when the smiles or frowns of the world
are Indifferent to US; but in spite Of all the strug
giles of life there is in the heart ''an aching vod
which nor wealth, nor pomp, nor power can fill
an innate yearning after something to love-
after something to cling to, and to feel the clasp
returned. And this yearning has the Prince of
modern poets, truly termed,
ga feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sordid thought"
RALPH RAMBLER.
Public opiniOn is a Jurisdiction which