Eastern times., 1855-09-20

way to its socket, and every moment in dan
ger of being extinguished by the snuffers OF
death; an old boot worn by poor pilgrim
with a wooden leg, over the rough road of ex-
lstence, till it is neither worth heeling, sole
ing, patching nor preserving. sIn fact, my
friends, don't see that am of any more use
to the universe considering as whole) than
shovel-tull of poudrette to ten acre corn
field. When am dead and gone l shall be
as thing that never has been ; and the chill
dren of posterity will probably shoot marbles
across my grave, as unconscious of their sac
rileglous doings as parcel Of mice gnawing
at the greasy leaves of an old and favorite fam
lily bible.
My worthy hearers-now let me ask for the
sake of answering myself, 'what are you p
You are no better than am, made Of no bet
ter stuff; the devil would bid no higher fol
you than for me. You came from the same
place that did-and with me you have all
finally got to creep through dark and narrow
hole, which is the outlet of time and the inlet
of eternity. You are all anxious for an equal
supply of the rich milk of mammon, but like a
double litter of sucking pigs to one sow, you
haven't but half teat apiece so you are con-
tinually roofing one another aside-and while
you are thus roofing and contending, some
more cunning brother pig, perchance is 'lying
off, and taking his belly full at ease. You
are tribe of voracious fishes, swimming in
the turbulent waters OF the worlds S wide ocean,
constantly devouring each other-those with
leaden wings falling an easy prey to those that
flourish with fins of gold. You are lot OF
half starved barn fowls, that have to keep
scratching The dirt 10 pick up living, and are
ever ready 10 run for the crumbs wherever
luxury happens TO shake her table cloth. You
are multitude Of stray sheep, of all sorts and
colors, scattered over every portion Of the habi-
table gobe-some feeding wind shorn noun
tains, some in rich and fertile valleys, some al
most barren plains, and not a few caught in
the thickets of trouble TO be sacrificed on the
altar of despair. Poor miserable wretches
you may have folds to shelter you from the
beating winds and pouring rains, but no cano-
py can be spread to protect you from the
beating storms of time No; you fancy your
selves beautiful flowers of hope and happiness,
anC that you are to bloom perennialy; but
oh ! my friends, short season or two and you
will begin to fade Soon will old Time
breathe upon your petals with an autumnal
breath, bring blight upon their beauty, and
scatter them abroad upon an unknown atmos-
phere.
Tomorrow, as it were, the bright blossoms
Of being that now adorn the gay garden of hu.
man kind, will be withered and mingled with
their ancestral mould, and a new generation OF
vegetable curiosilies will spring up in their
places to fall as they have fallen before the IA
tai scythe Of time.
My beloved friends and frail fellow mortals
you know that you cannot last but a little
while at the longest. You know that you are
manufactured of materials as brittle as glass,
and that the day must come sooner or later,
when you will lie, like broken jugs of whis-
key, by the wayside, with the spirits all evap-
Grated, and the clay left TO conglomerate with
its original clay. Therefore exercise every
prudence and precaution to prolong life to its
fartherest limits, and lay in a good store Of
salt for the souls salvation when it shall have
been compelled to forsake its earthly tenement
forever Dow, JR.