The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1854-08-26
Ori aiuol Correspondence.
For The Cecil Wing.
A Letter from Myraa Mystic.


Mr.. EDITOR Its very fashionable, now
a-days. for strangers to interchange thoughts
and feelings through the medium ofepstolary
CORE spondcncc; and ii you won't think ne
too presuming I'll just sit under this lnxuriant
old willow tree, beside this clear, cool spring,
and tell you how the long, warm summer days
are passing here in shadowy Violet Vale, and
,chy it is called Violet Vale.
Now YIN must know it's just the sweetest,
dearest and ..bsau,ifnlest'' Gas Carlyle says)
nook of place, conccivable; full! of bird
songs, and blossoms, and happy hearts, only
we miss, just now, pair of as black and
roguish eyes as ever flashed upon you from
under rich mass of raven rnglcts and long
jetty lashes; but I'll tell you OF her by and by
darling little Nell!
The old willow that throws its grateful
shade all around me here, purpling the spring
waters, stands behind the cottage garden,
with its little white wall held tightly in thou
sand tender vinc-arms, shaded by a thick
row of apple, peach and plum trees bending
beneath the weight of their rosy-chccked
burthen, and now and then peltng the goldcn-
winged bees and richly painted butterflies,
humming and fitting among the vines, with Il
ripe ball, dropped rs if for spite, from their
bending branches.
And over the little gate, through which
you pass from the cottage to the Vale, stands
Il tremendous old cherry, thick and green,
which in spring time tempts me as sorcly as
mother Ewes apple in Eden, with its great
clusters of crimson, glittcring and melting in
warm sunshine.
But now not a single spot of red peeps out
from amid its dark leaves, and if Nell were
here, she would tell you in her own merry
way, how somebody,
In the days when we went gipscying,
long time ago.
clanihered up the wall, one pleasant spring
morning, pcrched herself on the gate-post.
and robbed the poor tree of its every pre-
cious treasure, to carry to little sick Maggie
who lives in the brown cot on the hillside
Wonder; but she wouldn't tell you uho-not
she!
Gently sloping from the garden gate, is this
quiet Fale-sloping down to the old willow
IbolS, tliCl Soitiy, oHi''th's
toward the dark river; and this tiny thread
of spring liquid crceps murmuringly along
through green grass and wild flowers, until
its sweet song dies amid deep waters.
But when sprng-ti comes, then thou
sand, thousand soft blue eyes peepnp at you,
in every nook and corner, and shady place,
and sunny spot, all over this beautiful Vale.
and ill it with delicious perfume, crushed out.
ottimcs, beneath Ncll's little round head
half buried in big bunch of blue violets, for
pillow, with her long black curls struggling
and nuttcring in the fragrance Of their cxpir-
ing breath, and her bright dark eyes wander
ing over Milton's matchlcss story Of Edcn's
bloom and beauty; for Nell loves to come
here to read ssParadisc Lost" not unfrc-
uucntly falling asleep over its rich pages,
beneath a thick covering of willow shade
spread cooly over her violet couch; and this
is why we call it Violet Yale.
But the long, warm summer days ar, pass
ing gently by, on zephyred wings, brightly
and ioyously, If Nell is gone to the Springs,
and | am left all alone with s.thc old folks at
homc.''
Now would have you know that Nell is
not sister Of mine, but little wild, orphan
cousin of only s.swcet sixteen;'' and last
month father burst liberal rein; and in the
oozing away process, ofhis generosity, would
have us pack up and go a-summcring. i
respectfully declined, knowing from past OK
prricnce, how little of comfort and enjoy
ment ono realizes amid the hum and heart
lcsSness fashion and trivolties ofsuch places,
and positively wouldn't exchange dear, de-
Iighttul Violet Vale. for any summer resort
between the two occans-no indeed
And besides th,t / know of some one
allcm- who can't leave town at this partcu-
lar time, when hi their professional scrvi-
ces are mostly required; and so | saw Nell
and brother Charlie poke off one bright morn
ing i'll early July, without single regret; and
the last | saw of pretty black eyes, she was
kissing her plump white hand at us through a
loophoc Of "A window, as the old coach rum
blcd around the hill lovely little Nell
We sadly miss her merry voice and laugh
ing eyes, all day long, in the cottage yonder,
and
when the candles are lit in the parlor,
And stirs in the calm azure sky
Even her pet canary seems longing for her
bright face, for it sits quite still, for hours.
upon its perch in the wire-cage, and its song
is seldom heard Poor thing!-1 wonder il
it's Nell or Liberty it's longing for! Sweet
Ncll ! dearly love you, but mean to leave
its prison door ajar, some day Through mis-
take, OF courseD and set your poor captive
ree,-ycs indeed, will L!
But yondcr comes an ebon messenger fly.
ing through the gate under the big cherry
down towards Willow Spring, with letter.
wonder if-yes it's from Nell and Charlie;
so adicu for to-day! MYRA MYsrIc.
piola Yale, august, 1854.
A SKATING ARMY.-Lctters from St. Peters
burg s'a that they are organizing at Con.
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