The Union. [volume] (Georgetown, Del.) 1863-1866, 1863-12-25
8tisfeIlamenMs.
Correspondence Of the Union.
Letter From Milton.
MILTON. DEL, Dec. 1863.

MILTON, DEL, Dec. 1868.
DEAR UNION:
The sun rises, and the sun goes down,
night comes, the stars CLEAN ON the ramparts
of Heaven, palo at the fires of morn, and day
comes and goes again, forever and ever, here
in Milton. 1t is said the stygian waters cir
Gle Hades nine times, but certainly the un-
eh angling food of Time rolls continual ebb
in one round about this place, on which day
and night are the onlJ ever returning voy-
ayers.
This is one of those towns that go with easy
PAGES toward the zenith; which is sign, ]
suppose, that it will surely reach it, for you
remember, slow but sure-the more haste the
less speed, and many others to the same eff
feet; but I'll not make sancho Pawsa ofmy-
self by repeating them, and so fall under the
Quizotic displeasure of your honorable SELF
All things move so gently here, that, that
Greek Philosopher who slumbered fifty years,
mighy wake up and start Rssnrrnis IaNors
were left unfinished, and not know of his
long sleep, but by the number of graves and
the whitcness of his locks, all things else
would be unchanged. That's matter of
opinion, however. But of these things, more
anon.
This is night; darkness has long fallen DER
the earth; the million hum of Milton's twenty
stores is stilled; the laughter and the violin
of the Hotel is silent, the Inquirer is read no
more in the Post Office the men who have
saved the Country and made fortunes ten
times since sundown, slumber peacefully after
their patriotic works, and the last candle has
flickered away into obscurity. The steeple
of the Academy looms darkly among the still
shadows, solitary sentinel over the ship-tim-
ber that sleeps in the playground below
The Watchdog, at slow, clock-life intervals,
behowls the rising sun, whose silvery flood
streams wide upon the ripples of the ebbing
3roadkiln, and CLEANS softly on the sombre
cedars that line its banks. Away off in the
moaning pines the solitary owl breaks the
deep silence, and the dark arches of the wood
land re-echo the hoarse sound. There is
weird spell upon the waters and on the land,
and the stars brood deep mystery. Through
the chill air comes rustling of wings, and
dark form alights by my side; he hands me
a magical telescope, and signs for me to look
through it. I obey. Milton is Milton no
longer; the streets widen into broad pave
ments, down which the moon light is swallow
ed in the glare of innumerable lamps; the
houses swell into lofty palaces strains ofmu-
sic float upon the air, and the sound of dam
cling and revelry mingles with the strains;
the rattle of the cars, and the shrek of the
whistle, and the whirl of carriages is heard !;
great bridge spans the Broadkiln, whsse
waters flow darkling below, and great city,
at one glance, bursts full upon the view. 1t
is the future of Milton, or burlesquc. l
turn to the sable form by my side for an an
swer, but ChaAticleer heralds Justify the
word, and the figure by my side mclts away
into the air, but ere he be entirely gone, he
shouts Economically from gbberish mouth,
that have looked through the prong end Of
the glass.
But perhaps the charms of Aurora had
stolen away his senses. Let us lul ourselves
with that belief-while l remain respectfully.
SCRIBLERUS.