The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1876-04-01
HORSE.CHESTNUT BLOOMS.

spreading horse chestnut tree stood child
woman, tall and fair. Lovingly the old
tree sprinkled its white snow of blooms
over and around her, and the Summer air
was fragrant with flower incense This
old tree was an orchestra. Here the wing
ed wanderers of the air held their meet
inss, and the broad, green leaves discreetly
hung their curtains around the mysteries
of many a nest. Robins, bobolinks blue
jays and yellow birds held grand rehearsals
amid the foliage, and such concert of
trills, cadenzas, grace notes, running of
gamuts, chirps and COOS was enough to
drive flesh and blood musician mad with
envy.
So thought Berta Figlia, as she strained
her pretty throat in vain effort to echo the
sparkling cascade of melody with which
provoking lark challenged and Knocked her.
"Ah, yes You may look at me side
ways, if you like-you know | can't do it;
and although you perk your head SO inno-
Gently, every feather on your little anato-
my is ruffled with exultation,' said the
girl.
The bird seemed to construe this speech
into demand for another trial of his skill.
His wings tuttered his tiny throat swelled,
aud all his body seemed to vibrate, as roll
AIDES, arpeggios and chromatic scales awoke
the slumbering echoes. Thread-like notes
of silvery sweetness, broken strains ravish-
r.
surprising purity, followed and mingled,
until the listener held her BREATH half fear
ing that the warbler's voice had wings, as
we'll as his body, and would soar away into
inetfable harmony.
Silence fell. Only the rustling of leaves
and the distant lowing of cattle gave far
communion with the struggling sigh that
escaped envious Berta's lips.
Il will 90 home, - she said, "and drown
my ambition in wells Of whey. will put
my hope beneath the churn DASH and time
my voice to calling stray pigs. IT'S use.
less to think of anything else, when even
little meadow lark can set my heart throb-
bling with envy. Bah! I'll go home, and
keep OH cutting bread and butter"'
She turned hastily away, but Gliding
root of the sheltering tree caught one of
her unwilling feet, and she fell forward
directly into the arms of a gentleman, who,
very properly, very naturally and very
gracefully accepted the situation.
"Oh-oh! Excuse me, sir. l did not
know that any one was near-my foot
caught in that root stammered Berta,
| alphabetically"
Yes, | see it did | was fortunate to
have saved you from an unpleasant fall.
Chance is sometimes very gracious. | was
at that moment trying to invent some apol
ogy by which to make my presence known.
The music attracted me from the highway,
and really could not tear myself from the
spot.
Thus, with easy grace, the gentleman
accounted for his opportune appearance;
and blushing Berta went in search of the
straying cows half-hour after, less impa
tent with her own vocal powers, and weav-
ing into her maiden dreams the warp and
wool of the tlattering words and manly
beauty of the dark-eyed stranger.
| Weeks fled, and somehow, as Berta pass
ed to and fro from the pastures, at first by
chance, at length by design, she often met
her accidental acquaintance beneath the
overarching branches of the giant horse
! chestnut.
The fires of genius and ambition already
! burned brightly in the maiden's breast,
and the strolling stranger knew well the
! value of the treasure that had stumbled
into his arms. AS rule, Dame Nature is
a great equalizer. To some she gives one
! talent, to others another: to some tact, to
others genius; to some beauty, to others
/ worth but in this forgotten rural Arcadia
she had wrought the perfectness of Eer
handwork. and a combination of the
queen mothers best was Berta Figlia.
! Sitting, one day, with her barred white
/ foot idly ratting the having riplets of a
cowslip- bordered creek, her great gray eyes
gazing musingly up at the shifting. pink
| lined clouds, she thought over all that the
!
beyond the long meadows-of the fortune
| lying in her wondrous voice, in the curves
of her rounded limbs, in the witchery of
/ her flower face, in the waving glory of her
yellow hair-of admiring and appauding
thousands-of golden luxury and silk at
tire books, music and the power of
song.
1t was to this last that her soul respond
| ed. TO sing-do nothing but sing. To
give expression to all the musical raptures
that Swelled within, and hold mankind un
der the spell of her magic voice. 7" live
! in an atmosphere where music was the be
all and end all of existence. All. this
seemed to her artistic soul Elysium. The
die was cast-she must go. The Tide of
an unsati>tied longing Hooded her whole