The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1858-12-11
\ i)cntil 5kctfI).
For The Cecil Wing
An Hour with the Dead,
AT iIOpEWELL.

l
soft winds were more plentiful than now,
| Sophie and / wandered out, ard lost ourselves
an hour or SO. in the Old IIopewel meeting
| ground-l call it meeting ground because here
are gathered so many together, never to be
parted again till the Earth gives up her dead.
| l shall only tell you that Sophie is my
dearest friend, and that We both have treasure
laid up i'll the consecrated Golfers of the grave
that shrine of the hearts best and saddcst
kccpsalics November was only little
three -days-old baby, whom the sunshine had
wrapped very carefully away from the sweep
| ing rains, and the loud winds, that usual
ly rock her cradlr, and sing her stormy
! lullaby.
We wandered from one old sunken grave
to another, and pulled the dead weeds aside,
| (hc weeds, that every summer time nurses
into Il more luXurant growth and strength
and read over all the dim cpitaphs we could
spell out-thc stones were so stained and rusty
with rain-and hcars-pcrhaps.
ALI! how many graves there are. How
many priceless jewels hidden in thy sacred
breast, oh consecrdtcd Hopcwcll! How very
quiet the slecprrs are! They, the beloved
ones, taking their rcst-they whose blind eyes
smile not, nor weep whose mute lips max,
no sign Of JOY or pain.
| | love to stonp over these old grave stones,
that are whde no longer, and deciph +, with
sad trouble, the quaint inscriptions that they
bear. Here is one, very slant and weather
| Sp,I- tI.
golden lettering the years have driftcd the
black churchyard moss. INia garet--ac ed
Do Was she beautiful, and good, and
womanly! She died early. But was her life
long enough to drink the dark waters Of human
loss or, did she go up out Of plentiful sun
shire, just as rondcr white clouds are going
up. and losing themselves in the blue CULTS Of
the infinite heaven beyond ;
After awhile we went slowly over, apart
| from til" other graves, and stood socmuIv.
tearlully, by one that is new and unsoddcd ;
that measures its existence by months only.
| that, small and low as it is, cast Il black
| shadow over half the sweet summer. There
was no grave stone there. None was needed
to recall the name of that dear sleeper; for in
| our hearts, as in the Lambs Book of Life.
memory, the Angel, had writer /" Johu' TOO
| plain even to be blottcd out, OF ovcr-grown
| with other names.
| Oh, John John! that day in the woods.
with the brown acorns dropping on our bare
heads, and the warm winds lifting our gloating
| hair, and blowing it straight across our eyes
and lips When we sat under the old trees.
in the mellow September sunshine, and talked
OF the bright Hereafter that was to bear such
| golden harvcsts fol us How it all came back
to me in this later Autumn /, at your grave,
and you, needless ofmy sorrow, never to go
out in the September sunshine any more!
| All! here is a g family group'' of graves,
whose unequal roofs are gray with the faded
grass OF many summcr-timcs These are very
holy and dear to my heart, for they shrine the
Kindred dust of one who is precious to my
soul-whoso friendship is the longest and
the trucst have ever known. think of him
tenderly, as stand here; nay, as hnecl here,
| pressing my face against the chill earth where
his tears have fallen so oft. Sister Mary
Ann ''-shc is not here, but IN hcaren. And
90 the Father ,'-as'ccp in Jesus. And little
g Rcttic'- portland, that followed its mother
into the fold Of God, and so is forever safe
And here, under Ills faded grass lies the
family dMling-the Z" Angel of the House
hold - Beautiful, exceedingly" fallyth
the pleasant sunshine. like an Angels hair,
over this quiet little the gray mound
that hides '' Sweet Crinnie " from our wistful
eyes. pull some withcred daisies that were
and wonder with quick sobs if airy dear one
will ever sit at my grave so, weeping, as | am
not for the dcai, but for the living who
mourn the dead Dear little Crinnic ?'' over
| her white and silent mouth there plays no
smiling now. The small, fair hands, so busy
once, are forever quoted. The long, bright
curls have been combcd straight and smooth
this many Il year. No wind rufiles their glossy
gold. No mothers hand plays with them
caressingy; they arc dust and ashes now
just as the white roses in her dead little bosom
are dust and ashes too. But oh the gloriicd
sinlcss lite was no type or shadow SO holy,
so spotlcss, and blcst Dear Crnnie tears
for thee are uniting ofcrings-thou art an
Angel now.
g Caic and Ellie ''-two broken rose buds.
clinging to one fragile stem. The dcathly
wind that nippid one of these little blossoms
swept the other with it, into the unfading
garden of our God These were ma kindred,
mine by the tics of nature and blood Oh
little ones knecling by your small graves, ]
remember twosothers, as small and dear, but
oh so far away, and SO neglected! There
can never hope to wecp--nevcr plant any
roses, or gather daisies, as do by these.
How full of tiny graves this :" Gods acre -
is! 6. Suffer little children to come unto me -
and 10! Lord, through these small green
graves, how many are gathered unto thysef!
I With thee we leave them, knowing they are
safe. EMMA ALICE BROWNE.
THE FIrIBusTERs.-H' hineion, Dec o.
1t is said that the Nicaragua iilibusters have
their RENDEZVOUS somewhere in the Florida
Keys. And there is little if any doubt, that
the steamer Fashion, which left Mobile on the
LIST Of Dec, possibly for Texas. carried out a