The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1852-02-07
ior Tie Cecil Wig.
TllO1ls hts i'm Solitude. MOL

am no eremte, reader, and could never join
in the prayer of Cawper '.or a lodge in some
vast wildsrncss." The very idea of being shut
out from the world, and deburred from min cling
even in its most tumuluous scenes, causes me
TO start back with shudder from the contcm-
platon. No virluous man, with reasonable
amount of constitutional firmnesS or energy.
need shrink for moment-cxcept it be to pray
for strcnstl-irom contact with the vicious
world. And | hold that man rccrcant to his
duty, who allows the vicious or unprnciplcd to
carry out their schemes. unaSSaulted, merely
because his moral nature sickens with the idea
Contamination. Let him nerve himself ioI
the battle, and if he lack strength. s.let him ask
o. Him who giveth to all men literally, and up.
blarIelh not" The bold, unbnshing vices Of
the bravo must be crushed, and the secret wiles
Of the villain. who seeks, when and where his
victims cannot see him. 10 stab their reputation
must be fcrreted on, and his vilainy circuIn-
vented. He is an abctlor of the wrong, who
allows it to triumph without raising his voice
against it, or who in solitude shuts his eyes to its
existence.
But wander from my object. which was to
Put into shape some of the many thoughts an
fancics, that usher themselves unbi,idcn upon
my
HOURS OF SOLITUDE.
Smile not, reader. al this seeming anomaly
for |. world-Iover as lam, have many hours OF
solitude. Hours when | retreat behind the
scenes and throw OF my stasS-yarb; when dofi
il is sweet! liark. they are coming nearer
who! What? why lcgions of spirits from the
ream-land--Fancy's rlysium--and their wings
make music on the s,ilar.
But ali! hateful thought! in their fight they
have passed Il spot where spirits of another or
der dwell, and these, with their dark, sombre
wings, have mingled in the bright puned
throng. Doubtless It's we'll; for we might new
or wish another home did gentle spirits ALWAYS
tend US here.
have my hours Of solitude; and who has not
Many there be who love them not, who rusl,
into exciting scenes, and who would live ever
in the whirlpool of Care or Pleasure. But even
these, anon are overtaken by that which they
are seeking TO evade. The physical nature
tires and sinks, but the spiritual is only reused
by the over-e1ertion, and flies wildly through
its carnal prison. have seen the proud lord.
ling, whose heart, no scenes of suffering how.
ever touching, could melt, shade his scanned
brow with his hand, then throw his arms wildly
out and press them 10 his breast as ifhe held
some loved object in his embrace, and starting
up TO consciousness with the excamation,-"al
gone--all eoneH' would press his hands again
to his fevcrish forehead, and tina, man would
give much could he but weep-"for each soil
sob he'd give a lustrous pearl" The devotce
of sensual pleasure; aye, the very bachanaI,
have seen pace his chamber floor with hurried
step, and now and then throw himself on his
couch; and ] have heard him groan-Oh! il
would curdle the very blood in ones veins to
hear him!
But have seen other men, whose hours of
solitude were characterized by no such scenes.
AT midnight,,l was awakened by footstep, in an
adjoining room, occupied by youngL. Alarmed
lest some evil had happened TO my friend, arose
and stole noiseessly TO the door of his apart
ment. II was ajar, and through the opening |
saw him standing beside his table, where few
books and several sheets of MSS. were laying.
His eountenance, always mild and gentle, wore
an expression of sweetness which can scarce
be imag ined, unless by those who have Witness
ed something similar. Enthusiasm was there
yes, in the full blaze, but so tempered with n
holy joy, that many would have doubted to call
it enthusiasm. A moment he stood thus, and /
saw him kneel down beside that table, and his
thin lips moved in prayer. If there is n scene
on which angels love to look--such an one was