The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1856-07-26
Our Correspondence.
Correspondence of The Cecil Wing.
Letter from the Country.
PLEASANT Grove, j uly 18th, 1856.


Sultry, swetering July weather, mid sum-
mer, the acme of the ycar Sweet upland
wood, how l sigh for your dim retreat-the
one green island in the vast dead sea OF
leated, sitting atmosphere; pnlseless as the
stony arteries of the great Sierra. But, all
quccnly summer, daughter of six thousand
seasons, henceforth the purple blood runs
cooler in thy royal veins. Thou art rpcnng
to iruition; hen:e forward thy path lies
wintcr-ward, over close mown meadows,
thro' rusting corn fields and under blushinc
orchard -boughs. But I will keep for thy
sake tender memory, sweet summer, when
thou art gone into the solemn shadows Of the
last forever. All ! there is sound in the
woods, across from my window, like the ncise
of distant waterfalls one hears in sleep
sometimes, and the branches blow together
unanimously; a tantalizing myth Of mingled
music and beauty, cheating the tortured
sense with echos Of far-of rivers in cold
vallies, and dim shadows blown over green
May reaches Oh, for the wild morse -chaunt
of stormy winds In the Boreal climc-and
the a-blue hollows of the Isle hills! Seed
time and harvest! While we, weary in
valids, languish in the drouth and discomfort
of isolated back parlors, or worse, dcsolatc
little bed chambers, sequestercd from every
thing but the heat and the torment whose
name is lcgion-tle disappearing and
tanning ourselves into u state Of phrenzy.
Out in the happy fields the ripening crops
shake their yellow tresses wide in the daz-
zling sunshine, and a halelujah goes up from
every corn field, where the wind holds
jubilee. l hear the song eff reapers on the
upland, ana ncwerpulse leaps in my blood
oh for their freedom to-day. Sometimes
have been decoycd into weak sort Of pity
for the toiling votaries of Ceres-the stout
summer bronzed farmers, reaping and bind
ing under the broad Enclosed eye Of sultry
"harvest time;" sprinkling the earth with
painful sweat as they wiring from the stubborn
soil that which was allotted man ssin sorrow
and in wrath.'' But realize what a glory
is the farmers life. How every honest en-
dcavor is step in the shining path to honor
and distinction, every sweep of the sickle a
psalm OF life, every scythc stroke hymn to
sublime labor. Then am made to feel how
weak is my pity of their lot-how degrading
to my reason, and insulting to the sons of
Industry. For labor is the beauty of lfe.-
Earnest labor is true nobility, and be that
tolls with strong arm and willing heart is
dignifed above the gay tinsel Of the world IS
pecrage as the stars of heaven are exalted
above the dew in the meadows.
I, John Smith, in my darkcncd study this
sultry noon, have. pleasant visions Of that
Later harvest, which is far in the years to
come perhaps, but none the less cheering for
all that. The gathering unto eternal life.
For the soul ripcns slowly to its glorious
truition thro' years of sorrow and suffering
only, even tho some few be rcaped and
gathered in before their time.
And apart from all this moralizing and
day dreaming, the true elixir of life-the
nepcnthe Of mortal happiness exists only in
the bitter and sweet essences Of affliction.-
For in the alembc Of the human heart burn
in one suhlimating flame together the clc-
ments of all the emotions, whether for good
or for cvil--for veal or for woe. The prin-
ciplc of immortal joy-thc intrinsic worth OF
life is within our reach, II splendid mystery
ready to be solved by the magic might of
reason and perfected faith, were we not 50
utterly blinded by surrounding circumstances;
By The dull picture and tawdry scenic repre-
sensations of our present moral state, which
we are pleased to style ''stern reality" but
(which is in itself but a slothful dream. We
realize all the evil of our fate, but how often
is the perfect good hidden from our self
blinded perceptions
What if / am q poor, despised creature, a
part Of a lowly humanity, smut out from the
common sympathics Of mankind by the little
curse of great physical defect. Have |
iss right to the clear sky and Gods bcauti-
tulsunsllne AIN not happier in my bound