The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-04-20
LETTER FROM VALLEY FORGE.

letter from Miss Mary E. Thropp, which
breathes the very spirit of SPRING
VALLEY FORGE, April Is.
TO the Editor of The Evening Telegraph
A single holiday snatohed from school duties,
and the beauty around my childhood's home,
have induced me to pen few lines to you
this pleasant Saturday morning.
Winter and spring have met again; winter
grim, austere; spring-mild, benignant:
was there ever so unsuitable couple? So
thew seemed to think, for they struggled for
mastery. Spring, like kindness, conquered
and winter, for the present, has departed. A
fortnight ago, and the stern old Jotun, with
his train of storms, reigned over the ice-bound
earth in triumph. Now, as if by magic, spring
is smiling over the land. The vast snow
mantle, stretching white and far, has been
folded silently away, as by invisible hands.
The sun, almost summer sun, is shining in
the broad blue heavens, revivifying the central
earth from orient to occident, beaming alike
on 'the just and UNJUST of every land.
Even our little valley, sleeping quietly up
among the hills, ''unknowing and unknown"
is basking in the genial warmth of his beam.
How impartially he shines on its glad blue,
clittering stream, its awakening woods and
fields, and its limpid river, gliding TRANQUILITY
on through the open, peaceful country to
your great Babel, a score of miles below,
whence one may see the blue, lordly Della
ware
Move on majesticaly slow, receive
And bear rejoicing Schuylkill onward
To the sea.
Last evaning the mild air and dried roads
invited to a walk. How pleasant it seemed
after the long imprisonment of winter The
silver crescent of an unclOuded moon cleaned
in the western sky, accompanied by a single
star. Below, ''the last red glow of even''
deepened into dusk-earth, air, evening, all
delightful.
This morning, the perfect fneness of the day,
the purity of the air, breezy and sunny, make
the house seem close as a cage. The tempta-
ton to stroll forth is irresistible. Blue birds
are darting hther and thither about the grape
bower. The sober little wren is pecking at
the old ounce tree, near the garden wall.
Hens are cackling, and rOosters crow, occa-
sionally, in the barnyard. The boys are
burning brush in the garden. 1t don't signify;
l must go, pencil and paper in hand, to the
verandah outside the hall-door, at least. All,
it is lovely How like light, invisible bolls of
cotton the wind blows against your cheek,
lifts your hair, and fiutters in your garmants !
Oh, that it might refresh every pining invalid,
as it retreshes me at this moment These
warm, soft winds, how useful they are, blow
ing the small tender leaves of the young buds
into bloom, those of the willows, poplars, and
early fruit trees more especially, at this season!
There is SO much of the beautiful around
that one scarcely knows, in attempting to
describe, where to begin. Looking westward,
| see the snow-white ducks and handsome
brakes, splendid with the green, purple, and
gold OF their glossy feathers, sailing in
miniature fleet over the pond basined in the
wheat-held-the early wheat-feld, which is
frightening to emerald green in it's far stretch
| even to the edge of the woods. Eastward,
the neat white houses of Valley Forge, with
one large factory (white also), look like
| fleet of larger proportions on the borders of
the lake-like stream, the glad, freed ripples of
which are leaping and flashing in the sunlight
for very JOY at their deliverance
Nearer, and round the house, stretches the
| garden. 1t does not take long to find out that
| lilacs, towering almonds, and May roses, in
the sunny spots, are budding; to say nothing
of the currant and raspberry bushes lining the
| garden WALL which looked so recently like
upright bundles of dried sticks, now giving
earnest, in the buds of their smooth, maroon
colOred stems, of the pink and white delica-
cies in perspective.
Hark how the birds are singing-a real
outpouring of melody, untaught, spontaneous.
| Give me this in preference to every other; so
| glad is it, so heartsome. l never knew a love-
ier time in spring. Even the veteran ivy at
the east end of the house is freshening, look
| ing well pleased with himself and consort for
having borne 'the adversely of winter so well.
But look, there is life now in our oftentimes
solitary road. Some school children are
coming; three little girls in pink, green, and
purple frocks all pretty much of size, not
one of whom can be seven years of age, their
arms interlaced about each ether, and talking
all three as fast as their little tongues can
chatter. Hark the middle speaker has the
attention of her audience now. Listen
"Inty, minty, cuty corn,
| Brier seed and apple thorn"
| 'IIttyy, lmliItty, SGty corn" and now probably
breakdown; for there is sudden laugh in
chorus-such laugh clear and sweet as the
trilling of birds in unison. They are gone
now; hidden from sight by the garden wall.
Blessings on the little happy hearts God be
with them, wherever they go. How l wish
could open every sGhool-house door in your
city, and give the pale pent-up little ones a
holiday here transport them all to the green
meadows and sunny uplands of the beautiful
/ O11r oil