The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1851-03-22
From the " Y. Journnl Of Commerce.
ANNIE GREY.
A BfsEstifgg SExnffyp


ing ola gorge of the mountain, where
the ravine spread out into valley, moi
very wide, watered by the stream that
dashed wildly over the rocks, little
further up. The broad, low cottage Of
the widow Grey, Gas call her, by your
leave, although | need not say | use a
fictitious name,) was concealed from
view in the day time, by dense mass of
trees and shrubhery, except on one side,
where the lawn sIoped down to the bank
of the creek. Here were usually moor
ed two or three little skias, which might
easily be forced up the rapids, quite in
to the mountain gorge, and were often
seen bearing Annie and her brother down
the Current, returning from some expe-
dltion on the hills. Had you passed
along the road which crossed the mouth
Of the ravine, below the cottage, YOU
would never suspected that house was
in the thicket above you, unless it had
been in the evening; and you saw the
CLEAN Of the light, or paused, as have
often paused, to let your horse drink at
the edge Of the broad creek and then
perhaps, you might have heard song
floating out Of the dark wood, and if you
rode on till midnight, it would linger in
your ears, and you would fancy you had
heard spirit.
That man must have hard heart who
did not love Annie Grey. She was the
impersonation Of loneliness. | never
could describe face or form. do not
remember friends by their features, and
have not the remotest idea of the color
Of their eyes, or hair, in nine cases out
Of ten. But do remember her with
distinct memory. She was tall, that is,
rather above the medium height, and
slender, but gracefully and beautifully
shaped. Every motion was natural and
unaffected; and her lootstep was as light
as her heart; and that had no heaviness.
Sweet Annie Grey! The music OF her
laughter rings from out the lonesome
years, like the melodious carol of bird
in the arches Of a temple! Her eve
was dark, quick as sunshine in its chan
ges, and full of unbroiten poetry. You
might read all manner of beautiful fan
cies and thoughts there. But lingcr
too long on this desert ption of her. Her
, brother was a fine fellow, a year or two
Older than she, and one Of the merriest
boys in all the country. He loved his
sister, too, and, as have before remark
ed, love has rejecting force which
makes the lover lovely.
am completely lost in whirlwind Of
memories, now that return to those DAYS
and scenes. There were thousand in
cidents ofmy early life, that brought
wildly before me, the moment recall
the old cottage in the glen and It's be-
loved inmates. How strangely does the
tr.te remark, that eve live in a changing
world" recur to our thoughts every day.
In fact, it cannot become trite.
The very stars that we worship, as
changeless, sometimes fall, and the ewes
that we worship with more of devotion
than the stars, grow dim, and the hearts
| that We fancy as immutable, change
mournfully! There is nothing immuta-
bic but God. 1t Is the attribute of Del
ty which includes all others, and to
which mortals do homage, because they
cannot comprehend it.
A score Of years has removal the cot
tage from the earth, and its inhabitants
having separated here, have met again
up yonder One by one their lips MUIR
muring hymns and prayers, and their
white hands folded together, the friends
of my younger days have passed away,
and but few remain of all that company.
Annie Grey died thus. One glorious
summer evening, when the moon was at
its full, she and Ned had been strolling
up the mountain side, and coming down
together, had nearly reached their boat
as twilight gathered around them. 10th
to return from the forest, she babe Ned
push the little sktf almost under the fall,
and standing on rock, in the very mid
die OF the water, she shook her tiny fist
at the cataract and held mock CONVEX.
sation with it.
Returning myself, from days shoot
ing on the mountains, | saw her on the
pedestal before was seen, and throwing
myself down on the ground, watched
her with adlniring eyes. Undine her.
self was not more beautiful. She talk
cd to the water as to familiar friend,
and in truth, if there be sprites and
ophies, they must have loved her.-Her
voice was clearer than that of the stream,
and when she laughed, as she at length
did, at some odd reply she imagined the
fall to make the old arches of the forest
and the ravine gave back a musical
echo, SO that | started to my feet and
listened to it as the voice of fairies in
deed.
But cry ofhalf terror, hall laughter,
startled me; and springing down the
bank, | saw her single instant, as she