The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1879-11-01
WINTER AGAIN.

WINTER AGAIN.
This year we have had use for variation
of the hackneyed line, for Summer linger-
ing has warmed the lap of Winter. But
Nature, though she may put US off for a
time, never does so finally and altogether;
and whatever may be the eccentricities of
temperature, the solar system goes on regu-
| larly. Never, since its wondrous machin-
cry was set in motion, has the sun been
known to rise or set earlier or later than the
inexorably appointed moment. The Octo-
Der days would continue to shorten though
the mercury of the thermometer should alb
surdly persist in creeping up and down the
eighties We must light the evening lamp,
though compelled to keep the windows open
and the fans in motion. The season stretch
ing over portions of two Ammo Dominies;
the season Gas we write it) of 1S79-S0 Or
ders the manager of the theater to ring up
his curtain; the tiddlers of the music halls
to rosin their bows; the ladies and gentle
men of the opera to quaver and trill; the
bathrooms must be swept and garnished for
"the dancers dancing in tune" while So
ciety, the watering-place WEAKNESS not yet
quite shaken off, betakes itself to fresh
series of formal dinners and of evening par
ties, which Mrs Materfamilias persuades
herself and her husband it is an absolute
condition of responsibility to give. Our old
friend, the lecturer is ready with his new
manuscript-his discourse of literature, or
science, or history. The water sheets are
not yet concealed for the ring of the skaters
heel, but ere long they may be; and who
knows how soon the roads, too, may be
musical with the bells of the swift sledges?
The Summer makes vagabonds of more
than the protested tramps. The dogdays
tempt us to sort of fast-and-loose life. We
go searching for comfort of the cool kind,
clint bling mountains, crawling ON the sandy
shore, voyaging across the Atlantic, taking
our rest in this or that enormous caravan
sary, all windows and piazza. But if we
escape the fate of that sapient triumvirate
of Gotham, we are glad to get home again
at last. All. those three repentant voyagers
immortal in nursery rhyme. AS their crock
cry conveyance cracked under them what
would they not have given for one bonny
blink of their own fre-sides. And if we
could get the Summer pleasure-seekers into
a candid corner, and compel them to con-
fess, more than a moety of them might adj
init that what with the ioste of the rail
way, the botheration OF baggage, the inevi-
table and expensive discomfort of hotels,
the ineXpressible economies of the board
ing-house, the joys Of the outing came, in
all their cases, unpleasantly near to safety.
But did any sensible person, with home
to brag of, ever allew that of it? Where
fore is it called sweet and SO be-rhymed
and he-sung? Why do we go out of it
half reluctantly, and come back to it with
smiles upon our faces A poor home
it may be, but what of that, if love and
costly fruitiens are there to glorify it and
to save it from squalor? 4 rich home it
may be; but Of all which wealth has gath
cred there what mates or matches the
perfect chrysolite of 4 sunny and contented
nature? And to think that so kindly is all
OIuCItu. IltlC Is sk tIcdSuTc W ulCl we neett
not travel to the ends of the earth to tind-a
new paradise from which only our own folly
or stupidity can expel Us.--a conservatory
full of brighter flowers and sweeter fruits
and more -nusical birds than the cleverest
fancier can furnish us for any money
calm though the boisterous winds may be
bowling outside; warm though the frost
may be sending paralysis almost to the
heart of Nature; strong castle which the
spirits Of discomfort AMI setfishness and all
unchar;,"h,encss ought to beleasuer in vain!
All the dcarer too, because it is of our own
creation, the embodiment of our best aspira-
tions, the fulilment of our worthiest hopes,
and rich in pleasures which CATER NO
repenting draw" We will not quarrel with
the austerities which double its enjoymcnts
What care we rs we peep through the
rimed windows for Winter shaking his
snowy locks at us? He may have broad
plains and ragged mountains and dreary
Northern wastes for his sovereignty, but
our cosy room, wise with books, bright with
pictures, all one souvenir of what is host in
thC ptSt, Gnu 81 N VI w Ia tfitS'S piiHSo III
the present, is not for his conquest and
SpoliatiQA.
Ii would he a shame, then, for us not to
welcome the time when we must shut the
doors and draw the curtains and give our
selves up to home delights and com forts
to those interior industries which are not
part of our daily and worldly work. but are
in y manner personal t. ourselves and to
those who are .lsS.r 10 us. 1t is an old story,
this OF the fireside, but God forbid that it
should ever become wearisome! 1t is novar
so to the children: and he srows old too fast,
and too foolishlY anticipates his last hour,
who tfets to hear it repeated. There are
commonplace to which no stigma attaches
There are things which We may say over
and over again with profit We may have
written nothing new; but it is the charm of
the most precious that it is no novelty. So
we welcome old Winter all the more cheer
fully, and anticipate old pleasures which
nor age nor season can pilfer of their per-
flme