Washington sentinel., 1853-10-07

An AuTUMNAL RETRospEcr-Th autumn
days beget in ones mind reflections, at once
sad and attractive. In'this season the emerald
of forest and field fades by imperceptible de-
grees into russet brown. Through crevice and
corner the wind sighs in mournful cadences,
as IT singing the solemn requiem of the depart
ing year The naked boughs Of trees peep out
from their variegated drapery, and the crisp
and fallen leaf toys gracefully with the zephyrs
the chilly air creeps stealthily over and among
the rustling foliage, and brook and rivulet
dashes joyously onward, "making music with
the enamelled stones"
We have arrived at the end of q season.
marked in peculiar manner, by the vista
tons of angry Providence Draw-bridpes have
yawned in the path of steam engine. The mon
strous motor Of civilization, scorning the efforts
of man to bind it down with steel and iron, has
scattered to the winds great ships, and marked
the scene of its victories with hecatombs Of
ghastly corpses. The great lines Of communi-
cation and travel are red all over with the
blood of martyrs. Opposing trains, in mighty
madness, have rushed to each others embrace,
and scarcely can'there be found a burial place,
in all our land, that is not the resting place of
some murdered victim of "disastrous accident
There are vacant places at many board and
desolation at many a hearth-stone, where sor-
row was unknown, when the spring flower bios
somed in our northern home.
4onder, in a beautiful southern city, strong
man and maiden have gone done before the
breath of the pestilence. No sound disturbs
the noiseless m0notony of its streets, save the
slow rumbling of a funeral cortege, that winds
towards "the cities Of the deadr Plague
stricken and dismayed, the flying population
have carried with them the miasma of death to
sister States, and the valley Of the great
"Father of Waters is a Golgotha. as balefill
as the Upas trce-death- like the siroc
co. No sprinklng Of the door post or Intel
stops the entrance of the destroying angel
1t takes the millionaire from the palace and the
sot from the hovel. 1t scorns the barriers of
rank and social position. 1t counts among its
victims the beauty of the ballroom and the
painted prosttute--the high and the low-the
master and the slave. The vehicles of trade
are freighted with the malaria--the air comes
to us tainted with fever. Great fear is abroad
in the land. At the exchange board and the
council chamber at the church door and in the
parlor--it drives out every topic Knots of
men standing at the street corners
"whispcr with white Iips-it comesl IL comes!-
Anxious friends read the daily lists Of the
dead, trembling lest the name Of the loved one
is there. Charity has flowed into the devoted
city In plenteous streams. Communities, ro-
bust with health, have held out their hands to
aid the distresses Of brethren, and jealous sec
tions have forgotten the heats Of party strife, in
generous rivalry Of almsgiving.
Such is the fearful retrospect 1t has been
year crowded with gloomy memories. Death,
the great reaper, has gone into the harvest,
and has come back loaded with spoils. From
the presidential mansion to the rudest hamlet
on our western frontier, he has selected, with
unsparing hand, his countless victims. We
doubt if another year so deeply dyed with gore
can be found in our aational history.
lPhiia Reg.