The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1853-05-21
For The Cecil Hhig.
scenes Here and There.
Nc. =.
TO be ContiaUed.
OUR VILLAGE;

BY JIM.
OUR VILLAGE;
Us localities ald Rcohies-its dissertations and
Inhabitants.
There may be sights more beautiful 10 behold
but | know not one more interesting, nav
more holy than a country village at sunset.
There may be themes more beautiful, more
glorious, but know not one more calm, more
placid than the ideal realities of a secluded,
quiet. s'l0rely' village. sour village" Is EN-
phatically the most quiet, the mos, solitary and
most lovely Of all villages. Its serenity is I'M
bounded. lis IealIics untod--yct pleasant
and It's associations and inhabitants the most
pleasing ever known.
The history OF sour village" is interesting.
! IL is OLD. 1t bears the marks of time and decay,
I hut II also is stamped with the elegance and
IuXnrcS OF modern times. The majestic syca-
| morcS, the branching elms, OF an age
! OF utility. day OF dmty-lntermng!e their
bonghs with tic beautiful linden and the sivery
maplc-elcganCies OF Il progressive and oInu-
mental agc--whllc the moss-covered, unhewn
rocks contrast strangely yet pcasingly with
artificial beauties since formed. The nhah-
ans too are 0W. Grey headed sires "moralize
on the decay" of manhood and beauty. Aged
gIandmothers tell of the good old times when
the useful duties of the household were the
only accomplishments; when the mother AIMED
her son '''o 20 forth to batlc'' and to conquer;
while joyous maidrns loving the good prim-
tive simplicity day of their fathers, depart as far
from them as possible, and love them still the
more.
The scenery around sour village" is slrilt-
/ ing, the antquory may search among hidden
treasures here er"Tnally. Every living thing.
| Every Tree, shrub, -even the rivulet-Speaks
| OF bygonc generations. Every flower that
blooms and wthers, seems to speak in voiceless
notes OF past hours OF joy and glory. We can
almost see the forms OF former inhabitants wan
G"rlng through the now populous, then nearly
! deserted streets. We pass a giant tree and can
! fancy the rustic settler taking his evening re-
past meath lis spreading branches. We cross
the opening OF grassy glade, or mule-road,
mcanderlng in its SANDY tack through the or-
est, and can picture TO our eyes that road trav-
erscd by bold, hardy men, ready to avenge
their own and their country's wrongs. We
dive into some darksome glen, and the startled
KID which has been lurking in its shadows dur
ng the noontide, fit timidly across our path
and vanish into the dark woods, leaving us with
a feeling akin to disappointment, that we can
not hear too the ringing of the settlers axe, Or
the shrllI whistle of the Indian hunter. And
now emerging as the eye loses its way among
vslas formed by the giant oaks which stud the
! upland, or rest on the dense. brakes and deep
dn.le, thick set with maplt, ivy and holly, does
it require ar" wide stretch OF fancy to unpeopie
the suburbs and view the original loveliness of
the scene. Romancing is not our purpose, but
the beauty and intense interest of the subject,
hast lent pen of fancy lu our descriptive pow
ers, which pleases little and must be cast aside.
Our village at sunset, is perhaps the most