The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-11-01
For the National Era.
THE VALLEY OF OUR CHILDHOOD.
October, 1856.
BY MINNIE MYRTLE.

1t was bright October morning, when the
great city with its glistening spires and its
hundred sails receded from our view, as the
putting engine rolled us on, till we were again,
after an absence Of months and years, in our
Valley-not the Vale of Ovoca, but the Valley
of the Connecticut; yet
.The vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet"
And can it be this is the river that seemed
to our childish vision so deep, and broad, and
grand How well we remember the first time
we crossed it, and never expected in our life,
should it lengthen and equal that of Methuse-
lah to make more wonderful voyage or to see
more wonderful sights, than we did in the little
village which was separated from us by these
mighty waters.
These are the meadows that seemed so long
and SO widespreading, tesming with waving
harvests, and shaded by the foliage of the state
ly oak and the graceful elm We have danced
with their dancing shadows, and woven wreaths
of their shining leaves, that were not less beau
tiful in our eyes than princess's emerald crown.
Here, too, fancy decked the brow of natures
years with her bright garlands. Oh, how diff.
ferent from those which reality has chosen to
place in their stead
But the mountains, neither time nor compar-
ison has diminished, as high and bold they rise,
as wild the gorge, as terrific the frowning cliff,
as dense the forest, and as dark the shadows,
as when we first learned to wonder at their
grandeur. We have seen the broad rivers and
broader prairies of the West; we have climb
ed the snow-clad hills of the North, and nestled
in the sunny glades of the South but the gran
tie peaks which bound our vision on the east
and the evergreen ridges which stretched so
proudly along the western horizon, have no ri
walls in any cline.
How gorgeous now, in their autumn robes, are
the trees over all the hill-sides, and how deep
the blue above, in contrast with the flow of
gold which the Indian Summers sun sheds
upon the Valley.
Our Valley is it changed, or can it be that
change has so marred our vision that we can
not see it as it isl Let US sit down upon the
terrace step, and look abroad. Far away, across
the meadow, we see the river winding slowly
round, and its silvery lustre is not dimIned.
The foliage droops as gracefully upon its bor-
der, and is reflected, with all its gay and psrti-
colored tints, as brightly as when we danced in
careless Joy upon the sloping bank. The fishes
are darting to and fro, and we should not know
but that they were the same that tempted the
hook in childhood's frolicksome hours The
nuts are brown upon the tree, and the acorn
shells upon the ground do not differ from those
which formed the tiny cups we used for tea,
when guests, and viands, too, were only present
in our imaginings.
The garden is still gay with marigolds and
ssters-those bright hues, without which au-
tumn would be, indeed,
"The saddest time OF all the year"
And the pansies are shedding still their per-
fume, while we may find
"The yellow saffon in the wood
And OIL the hill the golden rodn
In the shade of these very elms our fancy be-
gan to rove; and the moose tree does not less
kindly shelter us now than in those unfedged
hours, when we did not dream of fight be-
yond the shadow of its branches. We hear the
crickets chirping in the grass, the kline are low.
ing in yonder field, and the lazy sheep are nib.
bling the crisping grass, near by, in the meadow.
How we used to enjoy the apple gathering
and the corn husking; and the pippins are as
rosy-red as when, with rosy fingers, we heaped
them IN the baskets; and the yellow ears are
as round and golden-hued as when our nimble
fingers stripped them of their faded tassels. and
scattered to the winds their dry and dasky
robes.
We wander by the brookletl How thrilliEply
upon US ever comes the music of its ripp-ing
waters and the cascade, which dashes tbroAph
the distant glen, is not less sprightly in its
bounding glee, and has not softened its laapb
ing cadences. We ascend the hill, and view
the landscape DER and o'er." Not a tree has