The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1899-01-21

oieoh ior1n aBaiu Hore nappy ann Joy GUS
than ever. And as Robert G. Ingersoll has
put 1.-THE laugh of q child will make the
hottest day more sacred still. Strike with
the hand Of fire, o weird musician, thy
harp strung with Apollo's golden hair, fill
the vast cathedral aisles with symphonies
sweet and dim, deft touch OF the organ
keys; blow, bugler, blow, until thy silver
notes do touch and kiss the moonlit waves
and charm the lovers wandering mid the
vine clad hills. But now your sweetest
strains are discords all compared with
childhood's happy laugh-the laugh that
fills the eyes with light and every heart
with joy. o ripping river of laughter,
thou art the blessed boundary line between
beasts and men, and every hayward wave
of thine doth drown some fretful fend of
care. o laughter, roselipped laughter of
joy, there are dimples enough on thy
cheeks, to catch and hold and glorify all
the tears of grief.
As these old lines are so appropriate in
connection with the dead city.on the hill
we will repeat them here
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evenings
close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose:
There, as passed with careless steps and
slow,
The mingling notes come softened from
below;
The swain responsive as the milk maid sung
The sober herd that low'd to meet their
young;
The noisy geese that gobbled DER the pool
The playful children just let loose from
school;
The watch dogs voice that bay'd the whis-
pering wind.
And the loud laugh that spake the, vacant
mind
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade
And iIpd each pause the nightingale had
made.
But now the sounds of population fail.
No cheerful murmurs iluctuate in the gale
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
But all the blooming flush of life is fled.
Now we will ascend to the summit
whers once the busy village stood. All,
here we are, and before | tell you anything
more about the dead city on the hill, |
will point down the other incline which
slopes south from the decayed hamlet on
the hilltop, and in the lovely valley below
we see another saucy streamlet, if any.
thing more pert and impudent than Hick-
DRY Run at the other approach. And the
name of this brook is Perch Creek. Just
under the hill on the left hand side of the
Chesapeake and Elkton road, and facing
Perch Creek at its very bank, are the ruins
of two old houses, and these were the
southern suburbs of Bull Frog, in her
palmy days. These two huts in the long
ago were called the Bull Frog bee hives,
because each contained bakers dozen of
kids, and woe be unto the stray kid that
must pass that way, for he must do so in
dead run for the shower of small ground
biscuits that would rain all about him
would soon get the proper move on him.
Now, see where flint this small stone.
There, it fell in the center of the old
Frenchtown railroad bed. This institu-
ton persisted many years before the Frog
fell. In fact, the writer, personally, knows
nothing about the railroad, but has actu-
ally run the gauntlet of the kids at Perch
Creek. But tradition has been whispering
to each generation, all the way down the
line, even since the day that Christ carried
his own cruel cross to the summit of old
Mount Calvary. And because of the
whisperings of long ago, the scribe is
enabled to unravel funny little story that
happened at the Frog when our great
grandfathers were young. 1t was the first
day that the locomotive was to come
laundering down the new road, from New
Castle, and just when the proud old mon
ster was blowing for the city Of Bull Frog,
an old darkey was driving about half way
up the slope, from Perch Creek.
The old darkey was from Cecilton, and
Of course had never seen anything but OK
carts and wooden plows. He was holding
de ribbons ober de back OBJ an ole gray
mule named Jerry. Jerry was Juggling an
old cart up the hill, and it is said that
Jerry was as lazy looking old quadruped
as had ever come that near to the old Frog.
The engine comes in full view and darts
across the cart road, and SO does Jerry, and
the old darkey is left sprawling in the
road. Several Frogites ran to the old
mans assistance and when he had come
back from the land Of oblivion the old
darkey's first words were-what wus dat
fling dat skeert ole Jerry and me Jest now?
Now we come to the deserted and ruined
village, and as we are standing in its midst
we will cross to the foundation OF the old
store house on the east side of the cart
road. But not vestige Of the once pros
perous buildings remain today.
Now point southwest to the opposite
side of the highway, and show you where
the old blacksmith and wheel right shops
use to stand, and there is where dear old
Pustr 1Isad tn hang the anvil frou Mondav